THE  POEMS  OF  MASTER 

FRANÇOIS  VILLON 

OF  PARIS 

NOW  FIRST  DONE  INTO  ENGLISH 
VERSE  IN  THE  ORIGINAL  FORMS 
WITH  A  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRI- 
TICAL INTRODUCTION  BY 

JOHN  PAYNE 


Portland.  Maine 

THOMAS  If.  TSfOSHEJ^ 

Mdcccc 


THE  POEMS  OF  MASTER  FRANÇOIS 
VILLON   OF  PARIS 


JO  copies  of  this  book 
have  been  printed  on 
Japan  îelluni  and 
the    type     distributed. 

No.  &  £ 


WOODCUT    FROM     \N     EDITION    OF   THE    15TH    CENT1    k\ 


THE  POEMS  OF  MASTER  FRANÇOIS 
VILLON   OF  PARIS    now    eirst 

DONE  INTO  ENGLISH  VERSE  IN  THE 
ORIGINAL  FORMS  WITH  A  BIOGRAPH- 
ICAL AND  CRITICAL  INTRODUCTION 
BY  JOHN   PAYNE 


PRINTED  FOR  THOMAS  B  MOSHER  AND 
PUBLISHED  BY  HIM  AT  XLV  EXCHANGE 
STREET   PORTLAND    M  AT  NE  MDCCCC 


BALLADE    À  JOHN   PAYNE,    TRADUCTEUR 
DE   VILLON 

yl  TOI  salut,  cher  Payne  !  En  vers  Anglais 
*/l.  Tu  mets  Villon,  que  notre  vigne  inspire? 
Entre  les  feus,  aïeux  de  Rabelais, 

0  ions  rhythmeurs  du  pays  de  Shakspere, 

1  'ans  cil  pouviez,  je  crois,  choisir  un  pire. 
(  ',   doux  railleur,  au  plaisir  assidu, 

N'ai  ma  rien  tant  que  le  fruit  défendu  ; 

Sou  perruquier  farouche  était  la  brise. 
Et  son  humeur  celle  d  'un  chien  perdu. 

Prenez  Villon,  c'est  une  bonne  prise. 

Ci  vagabond,  pareil  aux  feux- follets, 

Contre  la  faim  se  débat  et  conspire. 
Epris  du  luth  moins  que  des  flageolets, 

C'est  à  charmer  Jeanneton  qu'il  aspire. 

Un  cabaret  fut  son  joyeux  empire  : 
Il  se  montrait,  en  son  rire  éperdu. 
Si  bon  garçon  qu'il  fut  presque  pendu. 

Chez  les  buveurs  il  obtint  la  maîtrise, 
Humant  le  piot,  toujours  le  cou  tendu. 

Prenez    l 'illou.  c'est  une  bonne  /    . 


4S9211 

FRENCH 


BALLADE 

//  eut  du  fiel  moi  us  que  les  oiselets 

Et  l'églantier  qui  dans  les  bois  respire. 

Loin  des  bouffons  de  cour  et  des  valets, 

Que  r ennui  mord  ainsi  qu'un  noir  vampire, 
Il  festoyait,  fier  comme  un  roi  d' F. pire. 

Are,    Margot  sur  la  paille  étendu. 

Estimant  fort  son  chignon  bien  tordu 
Et  son  sein  lourd  aux  rougeurs  de  cerise, 

II  cajolait  son  cou  fer/ne  et  dodu. 

Prenez   Villon,  c'est  une  bonne  prise. 

ENVOI 

La  soif  Pavait  en  plein  gosier  mordu, 
Et  par  surcroit  il  fut  esclave  du 

Cruel  are  her  qui  tous  nous  martyrise. 
fl  s'en  allait,  comme  un  compas  fendu. 

Prenez   Villon,  e'est  une  bonne  prise. 

Théodore  de  Banville 


CONTENTS 

FOREWORD,              .           .           .           .           .           .  Mil 

Prefatory  Note 3 

Introduction 13 

The  Lesser    Testament  <>i    Master    Fran- 
çois Villon, 103 

The  Greater  Testament  of  Master  Fran- 
cois Villon,  containing  — 

Octaves  i-xli,  .         .         .         .         .         .119 

Ballad  of  Old-Time  Ladies,        .         .         .  133 

Ballad  of  Old-Time  Lords,  No.  1,         .         -134 
Ballad  of  Old-Time  Lords,  No.  2,     .         .  136 

Octaves  xlii-xlvi,  .         .         .         .         .  137 

The    Complaint    of    the    Fair    Helm  maker 
grown  old,       .         .         .         .         .         .  139 

The  Doctrine  of  the  Fair  Helm-maker  to  the 
Light  o'  Loves,  .         .         .         .         •     M2 

Octaves  xlvii-liv,         .         .  .         .         143 

Double  Ballad  of  Light  Loves,     .         .         .146 
Octaves  lv-lxxix,         .         .         .         .         .         148 

Ballad  that  Villon  made  for  his  Mother,  etc.,       1 57 
Octaves  Ixxx-lxxxiii,      .         .         .         .         .159 

Ballad  of  Villon  to  his  Mistress,         .         .  160 

Octaves  lxxxiv,     .         .         .         .         .         .161 

Lay.  or  Rather  Roundel  (To  Death  ),       .         162 
Octaves  lxxxv-cxv,  .  .  .  .  .162 

VII 


CONTENTS 


Page 


The  Greater  Testament  [continued)  — 

Pallad  and  Orison  (  For  Master  Cotard's  Soul).  1  73 

Octaves  cxvi-cxxix,    .         .         .         .         .  171 

Ballad  for  a  newly  married  Gentleman,          .  179 

Octaves  cxxx-cxxxiii,         ....  180 

Ballad:  Counterblast  to  Franc-Gontier,         .  1S2 

Octaves  cxxxiv,          .....  183 
Ballad  of  the  Women  of   l'ai  is,    .         .         .184 

Octaves  cxxxv-cxlv,  .....  185 

Seemly  Lesson  to  the  Good-for-Noughts,      .  189 

Ballad  of  Good  Doctrine  to  those  or  111  Life,  190 

Octaves  cxlvi-cliii,      .         .         .         .         .  191 

Roundel  (On  my  Release),           .         .         .  194 

Octaves  cliv-clxv,       .         .                   .         .  194 

Roundel  (Requiem),    .....  199 

Octaves  clxvi-clxxiii,           ....  199 

Ballad  crying  all  Folk  Mercy,        .         .         .  202 

Ballad  (  Final  ), 203 

Divers  Poems  — 

Ballad  of  Villon  in  Prison.   ....  207 

Epitaph  (  Quatrain  ),           ....  209 

Variant,          .......  209 

Epitaph  in  Form  of  Ballad,       .         .         .  210 
Request  to  the  Court  of  Parliament,    .         .211 

Ballad  of  Villon's  Appeal,           .         .         .  213 
Ballad  of  Proverbs,       .         .         .         .         .214 

Ballad  of  Things  known  and  unknown.     .  216 
Ballad  of   Poor  Chimneysweeps.    .          .          .217 

P.allad  of  Fortune,     .....  219 


CONTENTS 

Pa    :■ 
Divers  Poems  {continued)  — 

Ballad  of  those  that  missay  of  Fiance,  .     220 

Ballad  of    the   Debate  of     the    Heart   and 

Body  of  Villon, 222 

Ballad   written   by  Villon   upon   a     Subject 

proposed  by  Charles   Duc  d'Orléans,  .     224 

Ballad   of  Villon's    Request   to   the   Duc  de 
Bourbon,         .         .         .         .         .         .         226 

Sundry   Poems  Attributed  to  Villon  — 

Roundel, 231 

A  Merry  Ballad  of  Vintners,      .         .         .         232 
Ballad  of  the  Tree  of  Love,  .         .         .     234 

Ballad  of  Ladies'  Love,     ....         235 
Notes  — 

Notes  to  the  Lesser  Testament,    .         .         .241 

Notes  to  the  Greater  Testament,       .         .         245 

Notes  to  Divers  and  Sundry  Poems,     .         .254 

Facsimiles, 257 


FOREWORD 


"  Some  charitable  critics  see  no  more  than  a  jeu  d'esprit,  a 
graceful  and  trifling  exercise  of  the  imagination,  in  the  grimy  ballad 
of  Fat  Peg  {Grosse  Margot).  I  am  not  able  to  follow  these  gentle- 
men to  this  polite  extreme.  Out  of  all  Villon's  works  that  ballad 
stands  forth  in  flaring  reality,  gross  and  ghastly,  as  a  thing  written 
in  a  contraction  of  disgust.  M.  Longnon  shows  us  more  and  more 
clearly  at  every  page  that  we  are  to  read  our  poet  literally,  that  his 
names  are  the  names  of  real  persons,  and  the  events  he  chronicles 
were  actual  events.  But  even  if  the  tendency  of  criticism  had  run 
the  other  way,  this  ballad  would  have  gone  far  to  prove  itself.  I 
can  well  understand  the  reluctance  of  worthy  persons  in  this  mat- 
ter; for  of  course  it  is  unpleasant  to  think  of  a  man  of  genius  as 
one  who  held,  in  the  words  of  Marina  to  P.oult  — 
'  A  place,  for  which  the  pained'st  fiend 
<  )f  hell  would  not  in  reputation  change.' 
But  beyond  this  natural  unwillingness,  the  whole  difficulty  of  the 
case  springs  from  a  highly  virtuous  ignorance  of  life.  Paris  now  is 
not  so  different  from  the  Paris  of  then  ;  and  the  whole  of  the  doings 
of  Bohemia  are  not  written  in  the  sugar-candy  pastorals  of  Murger. 
It  is  really  not  at  all  surprising  that  a  young  man  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  with  a  knack  of  making  verses,  should  accept  his  bread 
upon  disgraceful  terms.  The  race  of  those  who  do  is  not  extinct  ; 
and  some  of  them  to  this  day  write  the  prettiest  verses  imaginable. 
.  .  .  After  this,  it  were  impossible  for  Master  Francis  to  fall 
lower  :  to  go  and  steal  for  himself  would  be  an  admirable  advance 
from  every  point  of  view,  divine  or  human." —  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  (  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books  ). 


FOREWORD 

HIS  reprint  of  the  Poems  of  Fran- 
çois Villon  is  based  upon  three 
distinct  editions  : 
I.  The  Poems  of  Master  Francis 
Villon  of  Paris,  now  first  done  into 
English  I  erse,  in  the  original 
/arms,  by  fohn  Payne.  London  : 
Printed  for  the  Villon  Society,  for  Private  Distribu- 
tion, MDCCCLXXVin.  Fcap  4to.  Full  vellum  gilt. 
Pp.  XXIV:   1-187. 

From  this,  the  editio  frinceps,  we  have  reproduced 
the  frontispiece,  also  facsimiles  of  a  fifteenth  century 
MS.  and  a  black  letter  form  of  Ballad.  In  one  instance 
the  earlier  reading  of  a  single  line  was  adopted  in  pref 
erence  to  the  later  version.  The  Ballade  à  fohn  Payne 
by  Théodore  de  Banville  deserved  preservation.* 
This  was  in  response,  as  may  be  presumed,  to  the 
dedication  which  Mr.  Payne  prefixed  to  his  translation  : 
To  my  friend  Theodore  de  Banville,  the  reviver  of  the 
BalladA 


*  Found  also  in  the  1881,  but  omitted  from  the  1892,  edition. 

t  Retained  in  the  1881  edition.  In  1892,  De  Banville  having  died 
the  previous  year,  the  dedication  reads  as  follows  : 

To  the  memory  of  my  friend  Theodore  de  Banville,  one  0/ 
the  sweetest  souls  that  ever  sanctified  humanity,  1  dedicate  this 
new  edition  of  a  book  which  was  dear  to  him. 

XIII 


FOREW<  >RD 

II.  The  Poems  of  Master  Francis  Villon  of  Paris,  now 
first  done  into  English  Verse,  in  the  original  forms, 
by  fohn  Payne.  London:  Reeves  and  Tinner,  /go 
Strand,  MDCCCLXXXI.  Crown  8vo.  Hoards.  Pp. 
XCVI  :  1-150. 

This,  with  an  Introduction  which  appears  for  the 
first  time,  differs  in  one  important  respect  from  the 
preceding  edition,  as  the  following  extract  from  Mr. 
Payne's  Prefatory  Note  makes  evident  : 

"The  limited  issue  (in  1878)  of  my  translation  of 
Villon's  poems  was  found  to  be  so  completely  inade- 
quate to  the  demand,  and  the  interest  of  the  reading 
classes  in  the  famous  poet  of  latter  mediaeval  France 
has  "f  late  years  so  steadily  increased,  that  it  has  been 
thought  well  to  publish  the  version  in  such  a  form  as 
will  place  it  within  the  reach  of  the  general  public. 
For  this  purpose  it  has  been  necessary  to  omit  alto- 
gether three  of  the  ballads,  and  to  alter  or  suppress  a 
few  passages  in  the  body  of  the  Testament.  These 
expurgations  are,  after  all,  inconsiderable  ;  *  and 
although  I  cannot  but  regret  the  necessity  of  this 
sacrifice  to  the  somewhat  illogical  squeamishness  of 
the  day,  I  do  not  feel  that  it  detracts  in  any  consider- 
able degree  from  the  value,  such  as  it  is,  of  the  version 
as  a  complete  presentment  to  English  readers  of 
Villon's  work." 

•  I  ess  than  twenty  lines  all  told,  in  the  body  of  The  Greater 
Testament,  and  three  ballads,  to  wit  :  Ballad  of  Slanderous 
Tongues,  Ballad  0/  Villon  and  la  Grosse  Margot,  and  Ballad  0/ 
Ladies*  Love,  Xo.  2.  As  to  this  list  ballad,  it  is  very  doubtfully 
asi  ribed  to  Villon. 

XIV 


FOREWORD 

III.      The  Poems  of  Master  François   Villon  of  Paris, 

inno  first  Jour  into  English  Verse,  in  the  original 
forms,  with  a  Biographical  and  Critical  Introduction, 
by  John  Payne.  London  :  MDCCCXC1I.  Printed 
for  the  Villon  Society,  by  Private  Subscription  and 
for  Private  Circulation  only.  Oclavo.  Full  vellum, 
gilt.      Pp.  CVI  :    I-158. 

Here  at  last  is  the  edition  définitif,  the  entire  trans- 
lation and  notes  having  been  rewritten  and  revised, 
while  the  Introduction  is  brought  down  to  a  date 
which  gives  what  may  be  considered  the  latest,  perhaps 
the  final  information  we  are  likely  to  obtain  concerning 
Villon.  * 

This  text  with  the  few  exceptions  above  noted,  is 
the  one  we  now  place  before  the  American  reader. 
The  slight  omissions  (  necessary  if  the  translation  was 
not  to  remain  a  sealed  book  to  the  public  at  large) 
are  of  small  moment  weighed  against  the  possession  of 
a  hitherto  almost  inaccessible  version  of  this  old  world 


*  A  desirable  addition  to  the  literature  of  Villon  is  a  recent  reprint 
of  the  Vale  Press:  Les  Ballades  de  Maistre  François  Villon. 
Londo7t  :  /façon  6°  Ricketts,  17  Craven  Street,  Strand,  MCM. 
Crown  8vo.     Pp.  02.     Printed  in  red  and  black  throughout. 

The  Colophon  reads  : 

Le  Frontispiece  a  été  dessiné  et  gravé  sur  bois  par  Lucien 
Pissarro.  La  bordure  àf  les  lettres  ornées  ont  été  dessinées  par 
L.  Pissarro  âr=  gravées  par  Esther  Pissarro.  Cette  édition  est 
strictement  limitée  ii  deux  cent  vingt  six  exemplaires,  dont 
deux  cents  pour  la  vente. 

A  choice  specimen  of  book-making  and  already  become 
introuvable. 

XV 


FOREWORD 

poet.  Compared  with  the  few  scholars  who  can  read 
Villon  in  his  archaic  French  there  are  hundreds  of 
cultured  men  and  women  who  will  never  come  to  know 
him  save  in  a  translation.  What  Symonds  has  done 
to  reveal  the  soul  of  poetry  with  a  depth  of  human 
passion  unsuspected  almost,  in  the  period  covered  by 
his  Medieval  Latin  Student  Songs,  that  Payne  has 
accomplished  in  his  present  researches.  Through 
these  studies  and  the  version  of  the  poems,  we  are 
brought  face  to  face  with  François  Villon  and  that 
"  long  vanished  world  of  sorry  men  and  women, 
wherein  '  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother  '  lived  and 
held  his  perilous  way,  and  was  at  last  engulphed." 
To  have  achieved  such  a  rehabilitation  is  a  work  of 
supreme  power,  and  to  this  work  it  is  now  time  to  turn 
our  attention. 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


PREFATORY   NOTE 


HE  original  version  of  my  transla- 
tion of  Villon's  Poems  was  made 
in  1874,  at  a  time  when  the  crit- 
ical study  of  the  old  poet  was  far 
from  having  reached  its  present 
stage  of  comparative  advance- 
ment ;  indeed,  four  modern  editions  only  (viz.  those 
of  M.  Prompsault,  1832,  M.  Paul  Lacroix,  better 
known  as  Le  Bibliophile  Jacob,  1854  and  1866,  and 
M.  Jannet,  1867)  of  his  works  had  then  been  pub- 
lished, all  very  incomplete  and  radically  faulty  in  being 
founded  mainly  upon  the  printed  texts,  which  are 
known  to  be  terribly  garbled  and  corrupt,  and  not 
upon  the  only  sound  basis,  namely,  a  minute  and 
critical  collation  of  the  various  manuscript  texts  in 
existence.  M.  Lacroix's  third  edition  (1877)  and  that 
of  M.  Moland  (1879),  though  an  improvement  upon 
their  predecessors,  added  little  to  our  knowledge  of 
Villon  and  an  authoritative  and  definitive  text  of  the 
poems  was  thus  still  lacking  at  the  time  (18S0)  when 
I  revised  my  translation  for  republication  in  a  popular 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

form.  In  1882-3,  however,  M.  Bijvanck  published  his 
Essay  on  the  Lesser  Testament,  perhaps,  on  the  whole, 
the  most  important  contribution  yet  made  to  the  lit- 
erature of  the  subject  and  a  work  of  such  value  and 
suggestiveness  (despite  occasional  extravagations  of 
the  perfervidum  ingenium  Batavorum)  as  to  give  great 
cause  for  regret  that  the  accomplished  Dutch  scholar 
has  not  yet  fulfilled  his  promise  of  giving  the  world 
the  further  results  of  his  great  erudition  and  critical 
ingenuity,  as  applied  to  the  Greater  Testament  and 
the  rest  of  the  poems;  and  the  researches  of  MM. 
Vitu,  Longnon,  Schwob,  Schone,  Gaston  Paris  and 
others  may  be  said  to  have  in  a  manner  revolutionized 
the  study  of  Villon.  The  new  material  thus  brought 
to  light  has  for  the  most  part  been  digested  and  incor- 
porated by  M.  Longnon  in  his  definitive  edition 
(published  in  the  early  part  of  the  current  year)  of 
the  Poems,  in  which  he  has  given  us  the  result  of 
twenty-two  years'  labour  and  has  at  length  provided 
us  with  a  fairly  representative  critical  text,  marred, 
however,  by  no  few  defects,  both  of  omission  and 
commission,  especially  in  the  Vocabulaire-Index, 
which  sadly  requires  completion  and  correction.  On 
these  latter,  however,  it  would  be  ungracious  to  lay 
overmuch   stress,   in   view  of  the  material   additions 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

which  the  learned  editor  has  made  to  our  knowledge 
of  Villon  and  of  the  many  positive  merits  of  his  work. 
Indeed,  so  many  and  so  important  are  the  emenda- 
tions and  restorations  effected,  —  whether  of  their  own 
motion  or  at  the  instance  of  the  many  able  scholars 
who  have  lately  turned  their  attention  to  the  subject  — 
by  these  two  latest  editors  of  the  old  Parisian  poet 
and  so  many  passages  have  they  rescued  for  us  from 
what  had  long  been  regarded  as  hopeless  corruption 
and  confusion  that  Villon  may  be  said  to  be  now  by 
their  means  for  the  first  time  presented  to  the  world 
in  something  like  his  true  shape.  It  is  much  to  be 
regretted  that  my  late  friend,  M.  Auguste  Vitu,  should 
have  died  without  putting  the  finishing  touch  to  his 
life-long  labours  upon  the  same  subject,  as  it  is 
evident,  from  the  taste  of  his  quality  which  he  has 
given  us  in  his  study  of  the  Jargon,*  (forming  the 
third  volume  of  his  intended  edition  of  Villon)  that 
the  complete  work  must  have  taken  the  highest  rank 
in  its  own  special  line  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  his 
literary  executors  may  yet  find  it  possible  to  publish  a 
part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  the  remaining  three  volumes 
of  his  magnum  opus.     Under  these  circumstances   I 

*Le  Jargon  du  XVe  Siècle,  par  Auguste  Vitu,  Paris,  1884. 

5 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

have  found  it  necessary  minutely  to  revise  (and 
indeed  in  great  part  to  re-write)  my  translation,  so  as 
to  bring  it  into  accordance  with  the  labours  of  the 
above-mentioned  scholars,  the  results  of  whose 
researches,  in  so  far  as  they  cast  new  light  upon  the 
work  and  personality  of  Villon,  I  have  embodied  in 
the  additional  notes  appended  to  the  Introduction  and 
the  text.  Notwithstanding  the  achievements  of  mod- 
ern scholarship  and  the  great  revival  of  interest  in 
French  fifteenth-century  literature  which  has  marked 
the  last  twenty  years,  the  text  of  Villon  is  still,  in 
many  places,  terribly  corrupt  and  obscure  and  we  have 
yet  but  a  minimum  of  information  as  to  the  detail  and 
circumstance  of  his  life,  such  as  might  avail  to  throw 
light  upon  doubtful  or  enigmatical  passages.  This 
being  the  case,  I  cannot,  of  course,  hope  to  have 
altogether  succeeded  in  avoiding  errors  and  misread- 
ings  and  must  ask  the  indulgence  of  my  readers  for 
those  points  of  rendering  upon  which  I  have  been 
obliged  to  trust  to  conjecture. 

A  word  as  to  those  of  the  poems  passing  under 
Villon's  name  which  I  have  left  untranslated.  M. 
Longnon  follows  the  example  of  MM.  Moland  and 
Bijvanck  in  classing  with  the  genuine  work  of  our 
author  the  two  pieces  of  verse  (I  cannot  bring  myself 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

to  dignify  them  with  the  name  of  poems)  known  as 
"  Le  Dit  de  la  Naissance  Marie  "  and  "  Double 
Ballade  ;  "  but  I  cannot  conceive  how  anyone 
acquainted  with  Villon's  style  can  for  a  moment  incline 
to  pay  him  the  ill  compliment  of  attributing  to  him 
the  authorship  of  these  two  pointless  pieces,  which 
are,  indeed,  the  merest  schoolboy  doggerel.  The  first- 
named  editor  also  adds  to  the  "Poésies  Diverses"  a 
couple  of  ballads  ("  Des  Contre- Vérités  "  and  "  De 
Bon  Conseil")  first  published  by  M.  Bijvanck,  which 
are  (as  he  allows)  worse  than  mediocre.  These  I  have 
omitted,  as  they  seem  to  me  to  be  wrongly  ascribed 
to  Villon,  upon  the  very  insufficient  evidence  of  the 
appearance  of  his  name  en  acrostiche  in  the  refrain, 
and  to  be  saltless  imitations  of  some  of  his  genuine 
pieces,  such  as  the  Ballade  des  Proverbes  and  that  in 
which  he  imagines  himself  hanged  with  his  fellow- 
rogues.  Under  the  rubric  "  Poems  Attributed  to 
Villon,"  M.  Moland  prints  eighteen  Roundels  and 
twelve  Ballads,  besides  the  Monologue  of  the  Frank- 
Archer  of  Baignolet,  the  Dialogue  of  Mallepaye  and 
Baillevent  and  the  collection  of  picaresque  anecdotes 
in  verse,  known  as  "  Les  Repues  Franches,"  all  of 
which  M.  Longnon  very  rightly  rejects  as  spurious 
additions.      Of   the  roundels    and    ballads,    some   of 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

considerable  merit,  none  seems  to  me  to  bear  the  least 
trace  of  Villon's  hand,  save  the  "  Merry  Ballad  of 
Vintners,"  which  may,  perhaps,  be  an  early  production 
of  his  and  which,  together  with  a  roundel  and  three 
other  ballads,  I  have  translated.  Nor  can  the  two 
quasi-dramatic  pieces  (of  which  the  Monologue  is  a 
rather  amusing  fanfaronnade)  with  any  greater  prob- 
ability be  ascribed  to  the  Parisian  poet,  whilst  a  glance 
at  the  "  Repues  Franches  "  is  enough  to  show  that, 
though  Villon  is  the  hero,  it  is  in  no  way  pretended 
that  he  is  the  author  of  these  "  merrie  gestes." 

It  was  my  wish  to  add  to  the  present  edition  a 
metrical  version  of  the  seven  ballads  in  thieves'  slang, 
known  as  the  Jargon  or  Jobelin  ;  but  I  have  found  it 
impossible  to  carry  out  my  intention,  owing  to  the 
immature  state  of  this  special  branch  of  Villon-litera- 
ture. Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  M.  Marcel  Schwob 
has  at  last  identified,  as  the  patter  or  lingo  of  the 
Coquillarts,  the  language  in  which  the  jargonesque 
pieces  in  question  are  written,  the  various  scholars 
who  have  occupied  themselves  with  this  portion  of 
Villon's  work  have  hitherto  been  unable  to  agree  upon 
any  sufficient  explanation  of  the  countless  difficulties 
and  obscurities  with  which  they  abound,  nor  have  they 
even  succeeded  in    establishing   a   fairly    satisfactory 

8 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

critical  text  of  them.  Under  these  circumstances,  I 
have  deemed  it  prudent  to  leave  the  Jargon  unat- 
tempted,  a  result  the  less  to  be  regretted  that,  so  far 
as  can  be  gathered  from  the  tentative  translations 
given  us  by  M.  Vitu  and  others,  the  (so-called)  ballads 
of  which  it  consists  show  little  or  no  trace  of  the 
special  qualities  which  distinguish  the  poet's  better- 
known  compositions. 


INTRODUCTION 


INTRODUCTION* 


HERE  are  few  names  in  the  history 
of  literature  over  which  the  shad- 
ow has  so  long  and  so  persistently 
lain  as  over  that  of  the  father  of 
French  poetry.  Up  to  no  more 
distant  period  than  the  early  part 
of  the  year  1877,  it  was  not  even 
known  what  was  his  real  name,  nor  were  the  admirers 
of  his  genius  in  possession  of  any  other  facts  relative 
to  his  personal  history  than  could  be  gleaned,  by  a 
laborious  process  of  inference  and  deduction,  from 
such  works  of  his  as  have  been  handed  down  to 
posterity.  The  materials  that  exist  for  the  biography 
of  Shakespeare  or  Dante  are  scanty  enough,  but 
they  present  a  very  harvest  of  fact  and  suggestion 
compared  with  the  pitiable  fragments  which  have 
so  long  represented  our  sole  personal  knowledge 
of  Villon.  That  he  had  been  twice  condemned  to 
death  for  unknown  offences  ;  that  his  father  was  dead 


*  The  following  essay  was  written  in  1878  and  was  first  published 
in  1881,  by  way  of  introduction  to  the  expurgated  edition  of  the 
Poems.  I  have  thought  it  best  to  leave  it  substantially  unaltered, 
incorporating  such  supplementary  matter  as  is  necessary  to  bring 
it  up  to  date  in  the  form  of  additional  notes,  distinguished  by 
brackets. 


13 


INTRODUCTION 

and  his  mother  still  living  at  the  time  he  reached 
his  thirtieth  year  ;  that  he  attended  the  courses  of  the 
University  of  Paris  in  the  capacity  of  scholar  and 
presumably  attained  the  quality  of  Licentiate  in  Arts, 
entitling  him  to  the  style  of  Dominus  or  Maître  ; 
above  all,  that  his  companions  and  acquaintances 
were  of  the  lowest  and  most  disreputable  class  and, 
indeed,  that  he  himself  wasted  his  youth  in  riot  and 
debauchery  and  scrupled  not  to  resort  to  the  meanest 
and  most  revolting  expedients  to  furnish  forth  that 
life  of  alternate  lewd  plenty  and  sheer  starvation 
which,  Bohemian  in  grain  as  he  was,  he  preferred 
to  the  decent  dullness  of  a  middleclass  life  ;  and 
that  he  owed  his  immunity  from  punishment  partly 
to  accidents,  such  as  the  succession  of  Louis  XI  to 
his  father's  throne,  and  partly  to  the  intervention 
of  influential  protectors,  probably  attracted  by  his 
eminent  literary  merits,  amongst  whom  stood  promi- 
nent his  namesake  and  supposed  relative,  Guillaume 
de  Villon  ;  —  such  were  the  main  scraps  and  parings 
of  information  upon  which,  until  the  publication  of  M. 
Longnon's  "Etude  Biographique,"*  we  had  alone  to 
rely  for  our  conception  of  the  man  in  his  habit  as  he 
lived.  Even  now  the  facts  and  dates,  which  M. 
Longnon  has  so  valiantly  and  so  ingeniously  rescued 
for  us  from  the  vast  charnelhouse  of  mediaeval  history, 


*  K.tude  Biographique  sur  François  Villon,  d'après  les  documents 
inédits  conservés  aux  Archives  Nationales.  Par  Auguste  Longnon. 
Paris,  1877. 


M 


INTRODUCTION 

are  in  themselves  scanty  enough,  and  it  is  necessary 
to  apply  to  their  connection  and  elucidation  no  mean 
amount  of  study  and  labour  before  anything  like  a 
definite  framework  of  biography  can  be  constructed 
from  them.  Such  as  they  are,  however,  they  enable 
us  for  the  first  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  strange 
mad  life  and  dissolute  yet  attractive  personality  of  the 
wild,  reckless,  unfortunate  Parisian  poet,  whose  splen- 
did if  erratic  verse  flames  out  like  a  meteor  from  the 
somewhat  dim  twilight  of  French  fifteenth  century 
literature. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  example  so  ably  set  by  M. 
Longnon  will  not  be  allowed  to  remain  unfollowed 
and  that  new  seekers  in  the  labyrinth  of  mediaeval 
archives  and  records  will  succeed  in  filling  up  for  us 
those  yawning  gaps  in  Villon's  history  which  are  yet 
too  painfully  apparent.*  M.  Longnon,  indeed,  seems 
to  imply  a  promise  that  he  himself  has  not  yet  said 
his  last  word  upon  the  subject  ;  and  we  may  fairly  look, 
within  the  next  few  years,  for  new  help  and  guidance 
at  the  hands  of  M.  Auguste  Vitu,  when  he  at  last 
gives  to  the  world  his  long  and  anxiously  awaited 
edition  of  the  poems,  a  work  which,  considering  the 
special  qualifications  and  opportunities  of  the  editor 
and  the  devotion  with  which  he  has  applied  himself 

*  [The  hopes  expressed  in  the  above  paragraph  have  now  to  a 
certain  extent  been  realised  by  the  labours  of  MM.  Bijvanck, 
Schwob,  Paris,  Schone  and  others,  as  well  as  by  those  of  M. 
Longnon  himself;  but  much  yet  remains  to  be  done.  See 
Prefatory  Note.] 

15 


INTRODUCTION 

to  the  task,  may  be  expected  to  prove  the   definitive 
edition  of  Villon.* 

In  putting  together  the  following  pages  I  should  be 
sorry  to  allow  it  to  be  supposed  that  I  contemplated 
any  exhaustive  study  of  the  man  or  of  his  work.  My 
sole  object  has  been  to  present  the  facts  and  hypotheses, 
of  which  we  are  in  possession  on  the  subject,  in  such 
a  plain  and  accessible  form  as  may  furnish  to  those 
readers  of  the  translation  of  his  strange  and  splen- 
did verse  who  (and  we  know  that  they  are  as  yet 
many)  are  unacquainted  with  the  poems,  and  perhaps 
even  with    the  name  of  Villon,!  some  unpretentious 


*  I  owe  to  the  kindness  of  M.  Vitu  the  following  particulars  of 
the  scheme  of  his  forthcoming  edition  of  Villon,  which  will  serve 
to  show  the  great  scope  and  importance  of  the  work,  now  in  an 
advanced  stage  of  preparation.  It  will  form  four  volumes,  the 
first  of  which  will  consist  wholly  of  notices  upon  Villon  and  his 
contemporaries,  completing  and  correcting  all  that  has  been  hith- 
erto published  on  the  subject.  The  second  volume  will  comprise 
the  complete  text  of  Villon,  augmented  by  several  authentic  poems 
hitherto  unknown,  an  appendix  containing  pieces  written  in  imita- 
tion of  the  old  poet  and  a  short  treatise  upon  mediaeval  prosody 
and  versification,  in  correction  of  the  errors  and  laches  of  modern 
scholars.  The  text  presented  will  be  founded  wholly  upon  the 
manuscripts,  the  gothic  editions  being  all,  according  to  M.  Vitu, 
incorrect,  garbled  and  incomplete.  The  third  volume  will  com- 
prise the  "  Jargon,"  with  the  addition  of  five  unpublished  ballads, 
besides  a  philological  interpretation  and  a  history  of  the  work  ; 
and  the  fourth  will  contain  an  exhaustive  glossary.  [Since  the 
above  note  was  written  (in  1881),  M.  Vitu  has  died,  leaving  his 
work  uncompleted.     See  Prefatory  Note. J 

t  The  uncertainty  that  has  so  long  obscured  every  detail  of 
Villon's  life  has  extended  even  to  the  pronunciation  of  the  name 

16 


INTRODUCTION 

introduction,  as  well  to  his  personality  and  habit  of 
thought  as  to  the  circumstance  and  local  colouring 
of  his  verse.  The  rest  I  leave  to  more  competent 
hands  than  my  own,  content  if  I  have,  in  the  follow- 
ing sketch  and  in  the  translation  to  which  it  is  intended 
to  serve  as  preface,  set  ajar  one  more  door,  long  sadly 
moss-grown  and  ivy-hidden,  into  that  enchanted  won- 
derland of  French  poetry,  which  glows  with  such 
spring-tide  glory  of  many-coloured  bloom,  such  autumn 
majesty  of  matured  fruit. 

by  which  he  is  known  to  posterity.  It  has  been,  and  still  is,  the 
custom  to  pronounce  the  poet's  adoptive  name  Vilon,  as  if  written 
with  one  /,  and  it  is  only  of  late  years  that  this  error  (no  doubt  due 
to  the  proverbial  carelessness  of  the  French,  and  more  especially 
of  the  Parisian  public,  with  regard  to  the  pronunciation  of  proper 
names)  has  been  authoritatively  corrected.  As  M.  Jannet  remarks 
it  is  only  in  the  Midi  that  folk  know  how  to  sound  the  //  mouillés , 
or  liquid  //.  It  has  now,  however,  been  conclusively  demonstrated 
that  the  correct  pronunciation  of  the  name  is  Vilion,  the  poet  him- 
self (as  was  first  pointed  out  by  M.  Jannet)  always  rhyming  it  with 
such  words  as  pavillon,  tourbillon,  bouillon,  aiguillon,  etc.,  in 
which  the  //  are  liquid  ;  and  a  still  more  decisive  argument  is  fur- 
nished by  M.  Longnon,  who  has  noted,  in  the  course  of  his 
researches,  that  the  Latin  form  of  the  patronymic,  as  it  appears  in 
contemporary  documents,  is  Villione,  and  that  the  name  is  spelt 
in  error  Vignon  in  a  record  of  the  Court  of  Parliament,  dated  25th 
July,  1425,  in  which  Guillaume  de  Villon  is  shown  by  internal 
evidence  to  be  the  person  referred  to,  thus  proving  by  inference 
that  the  //of  the  name,  apparently  imperfectly  caught  from  dicta- 
tion, must  necessarily  have  been  liquid;  otherwise  they  could 
hardly  have  been  mistaken  for  another  liquid,  gn.  Moreover  (and 
this  information  also  we  owe  to  M.  Longnon)  the  name  of  the 
village  which  gave  birth  to  the  Canon  of  St.  Benoît  is  to  this  day 
pronounced  Vilion. 

17 


The  year  1431  may,  without  impropriety,  be  styled 
the  grand  climacteric  of  French  national  life.  After 
a  hundred  years'  struggle  for  national  existence  against 
the  great  soldiers  produced  in  uninterrupted  succes- 
sion by  England,  apparently  with  no  other  object 
than  the  conquest  of  the  neighbouring  continent,  as 
well  as  against  far  more  dangerous  and  insidious 
intestine  enemies  ;  after  having  seen  three-quarters  of 
the  kingdom,  of  which  Charles  VI  was  the  nominal 
king,  bowed  in  apparently  permanent  subjection  to 
the  foreign  foe,  the  French  people  had  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  placing  on  the  head  of  Charles  VII  the 
crown  of  his  fathers,  thanks  to  the  superhuman  efforts 
of  two  of  the  noblest  women  that  ever  lived,  Jeanne 
d'Arc  and  Agnes  Sorel,  and  to  the  unselfish  devotion 
of  the  great-hearted  patriot  Jacques  Cœur.  On  the 
31st  of  May  1431  the  heroine  of  Domrèmy  consum- 
mated the  most  glorious  life  of  which  the  history  of 
womankind  affords  example  by  an  equally  noble  death 
upon  the  pyre  of  Rouen;  not,  however,  before  she  had 
fulfilled  her  sublime  purpose.  Before  her  death  she 
had  seen  the  achievement  of  the  great  object,  the 
coronation  of  Charles  VII  at  Rheims,  which  she  had 
originally  proposed  to  herself  as  the  term  of  her  un- 
paralleled political  career;  and  the  English,  driven 
out  of  stronghold  after  stronghold,  province  after 
province,  were  now  obliged  to  concentrate  their  efforts 

18 


INTRODUCTION 

on  the  retention  of  the  provinces  of  Normandy  and 
Guienne.  Nor  was  it  long  ere  even  this  limited  pur- 
pose was  perforce  abandoned.  Paris,  after  sixteen 
years  of  foreign  occupation,  opened  her  gates  to  her 
legitimate  king  and  four  or  five  more  years  sufficed  to 
complete  the  permanent  expulsion  of  the  English  from 
France.  The  heroic  peasant  girl  of  Lorraine  had  not 
only  recovered  for  the  Dauphin  his  lawful  inheritance  ; 
she  had  created  the  French  people.  Until  her  time 
France  had  been  inhabited  by  Bretons,  Angevins, 
Bourbonnais,  Burgundians,  Poitevins,  Armagnacs  ;  at 
last  the  baptism  of  fire  through  which  the  land  had 
passed  and  the  breath  of  heroism  that  emanated  from 
the  Maid  of  Orleans  had  welded  together  the  con- 
flicting sections  and  had  informed  them  with  that 
breath  of  patriotism  which  is  the  beginning  of  all 
national  life.  France  had  at  length  become  a  nation. 
The  change  was  not  yet  complete  :  there  remained 
yet  much  to  be  done  and  suffered  before  the  precious 
gift  so  hardly  won  could  be  definitively  assured  :  Louis 
XI,  with  his  cold  wisdom  and  his  unshrinking  deter- 
mination, was  yet  to  consolidate  by  the  calculated 
severity  of  his  administration  and  the  supple  firmness 
of  his  domestic  and  foreign  policy  (long  so  grossly 
misunderstood  and  calumniated)  the  unity  and  har- 
mony of  the  young  realm.  Still  the  new  national  life 
had  been  effectually  conquered  and  it  only  remained 
for  time  and  wisdom  to  confirm  and  substantiate  it. 

One    of  the  most  salient  symptoms  of   a    national 
impulse  of   regeneration  is  commonly  afforded  by  the 

«9 


INTRODUCTION 

consolidation  and  individualisation  of  the  national 
speech.  I  should  say  rather,  perhaps,  that  such  a  phe- 
nomenon is  one  of  those  most  necessary  to  such  a  popu- 
lar movement  and  therefore  most  to  be  expected  from 
it,  though  it  may  not  always  be  possible  to  trace  the 
correspondence  of  the  one  with  the  other.  However, 
it  is  certain  that  the  converse  generally  holds  true, 
and  it  was  undoubtedly  so  in  the  present  instance. 
Up  to  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century  France  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  possessed  a  national  language  ; 
the  Langue  d'Oil,  for  want  of  writers  of  supreme 
genius,  had  hardly  as  yet  become  fashioned  into  an 
individual  tongue.  It  is  to  poets  rather  than  to  prose 
writers  that  we  must  look  for  the  influences  that  stim- 
ulate and  direct  the  growth  of  a  national  speech,  and 
there  is,  perhaps,  no  instance  in  which  the  power  of  a 
true  poet  is  more  decisively  visible  than  in  his  control 
over  the  creation  and  definition  of  a  language,  espec- 
ially during  periods  of  national  formation  and  transition. 
Up  to  the  time  of  which  I  speak,  this  influence  had 
been  wanting  in  France.  During  the  fourteenth 
century  and  the  earlier  part  of  the  next,  her  poetic 
literature  had  consisted  mainly  of  imitations  of  the 
elder  poets,  especially  of  Guillaume  de  Lorris  and 
Jehan  de  Meung,  of  the  Chansons  de  Geste  and  other 
heroic  romances  and  probably  also  of  the  Troubadours 
or  poets  of  the  Langue  d'Oc.  Abundance  of  sweet 
singers  had  arisen  and  passed  away,  most  of  them 
modelled  upon  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  whose  influence 
had  been  as  that  of  the  plane,  beneath  which,  it  is 


INTRODUCTION 

said,  no  corn  will  ripen.  Under  its  shadow  there  had 
sprung  up  abundance  of  flowers,  but  they  were  those 
rather  of  the  hothouse  and  the  garden  than  the 
robuster  and  healthier  denizens  of  the  woods  and 
fields.  There  was  hardly  any  breath  of  national  life 
in  the  singers  of  the  time  :  Guillaume  de  Machau, 
Eustache  Deschamps,  Jehan  Froissart,  Christine  de 
Pisan,  Alain  Chartier,  Charles  d'Orléans,  were  indeed 
poets  of  the  second  order,  of  whom  any  country  might 
be  proud  ;  but  they  were  poets  who  (if  one  should 
excerpt  from  their  verse  its  accidental  local  colouring) 
might,  for  all  that  they  evince  of  national  life  and 
national  spirit,  have  been  produced  in  any  country 
where  a  like  and  sufficient  culture  prevailed.  The 
thirteenth  century  had  indeed  produced  one  poet, 
Rutubeuf,  in  whose  "Complaintes"  ran  some  breath 
of  popular  feeling,  sorely  limited,  however,  by  deficient 
power  and  lacking  inspiration  in  the  singer;  and  in 
some  of  the  productions  of  the  poets  I  have  named 
above,  notably  in  Deschamps'  fine  ballad  on  the  death 
of  the  great  Constable  du  Guesclin,  in  Christine  de 
Pisan's  pathetic  lament  over  the  madness  of  Charles 
VI  and  the  state  of  the  kingdom  and  in  the  anony- 
mous poem  known  as  "  Le  Combat  des  Trente,"  there 
breathes  some  nobler  and  stronger  spirit,  some  distant 
echo  of  popular  passion  ;  nor  is  the  sweet  verse  of 
Charles  d'  Orléans  wanting  in  patriotic  notes,  touched, 
unfortunately,  with  too  slight  a  hand.  But  these  are 
few  and  far  between;  the  subjects  usually  chosen  are 
love  and  chivalry,  questions  of  honour,  gallantry  and 


INTRODUCTION 

religion,  treated  allegorically  and  rhetorically  after  the 
extinct  and  artificial  fashion  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose. 
Beautiful  as  is  often  the  colour  and  cadence  of  the 
verse,  we  cannot  but  feel  that  it  is  a  beauty  and  a 
charm  which  belong  to  a  past  age  and  which  have  no 
living  relation  to  that  in  which  they  saw  the  light.  In 
perusing  the  poetry  of  the  time,  one  seems  to  be  gazing 
upon  interminable  stretches  of  antique  tapestry,  em- 
broidered in  splendid  but  somewhat  faded  hues, 
wherein  armed  knights  and  ladies,  clad  in  quaintly  cut 
raiment  and  adorned  with  ornaments  of  archaic  form, 
sit  at  the  banquet,  stray  a-toying  in  gardens,  ride 
a-hawking  in  fields  or  pass  a-hunting  through  woods, 
where  every  flower  is  moulded  after  a  conventional 
pattern  and  no  leaf  dares  assert  itself  save  for  the 
purpose  of  decoration.  Here  everything  is  prescribed  : 
the  bow  of  the  knight  as  he  kneels  before  his  lady, 
the  sweep  of  the  chatelaine's  robe  through  the  ban- 
nered galleries,  the  fall  of  the  standard  on  the  wind, 
the  career  of  the  war-horse  through  the  lists,  the  flight 
of  the  birds  through  the  air,  the  motions  of  the  deer 
that  stand  at  gaze  in  the  woods,  —  all  are  ordered  in 
obedience  to  a  certain  strictly  prescribed  formula, 
in  which  one  feels  that  nature  and  passion  have  ceased 
to  have  any  sufficient  part.  Whether  one  wanders 
with  Charles  d'Orléans  through  the  forest  of  Ennuy- 
euse Tristesse,  conversing  with  Dangier,  Amour, 
Beaulté  d'Amours,  Faux  Dangier,  Dame  Merencolie 
and  a  host  of  other  allegorical  personages,  or  listens 
to  Guillaume  de  Machau,  as,  with   a  thousand  quaint 


INTRODUCTION 

conceits  and  gallant  devices,  he  compares  his  lady  to 
David's  harp  with  its  twenty -five  strings,  one  feels  that 
one  is  gazing  upon  phantoms  and  moving  in  a  dead 
world,  from  which  the  colour  and  the  glory  are  hope- 
lessly faded.  It  is  not  poets  of  the  trouvère  or  trou- 
badour order  who  can  have  any  decisive  effect  upon 
the  new  growth  of  a  nation,  as  it  emerges  from  the 
fiery  furnace  of  national  regeneration  ;  it  is  for  no 
mere  sweet  singer  that  the  task  of  giving  to  the 
national  speech  that  new  impulse  which  shall  corres- 
pond with  its  political  and  social  advance  is  reserved. 
The  chosen  one  may  be  rude,  lacking  in  culture,  gross 
in  thought  or  form,  but  he  must  and  will  come  with 
lips  touched  with  the  fire  of  heaven  and  voice  ringing 
with  the  accents  of  a  new-  world.  Such  a  poet  was 
called  for  by  the  necessities  of  the  time  and  such  an 
one  was  provided,  by  the  subtle  influences  which  order 
the  mechanism  of  national  formation,  in  the  very  year 
that  saw  the  consecration  of  French  nationality  by  the 
death  of  the  Martyr  of  Rouen. 


-3 


II 


François  de  Montcorbier,  better  known  as  Villon, 
from  the  name  of  his  lifelong  patron  and  protector, 
was  born  in  the  year  1431,  within  a  few  weeks  or  days 
of  the  capital  political  event  of  which  I  have  just 
spoken.  It  is  uncertain  what  place  may  claim  the 
honour  of  his  birth,  but  the  probabilities  appear  to  be 
in  favour  of  his  having  been  born  at  some  village  near 
(or  at  least  in  the  diocese  of)  Paris,  entitling  him  to 
the  style  of  Parisiensis  or  de  Paris,  which  he  commonly 
adopts,  and  also,  combined  with  residence  and  gradua- 
tion at  the  Paris  University,  to  certain  municipal  and 
other  privileges  of  citizenship,  such  as  the  right  of 
voting  at  the  election  of  Echevins  or  notables.  It 
seems  probable  that  he  belonged  to  a  decayed  and 
impoverished  branch  of  the  noble  family  of  Mont- 
corbier, who  took  their  name  from  a  fief  and  village 
(since  disappeared)  in  the  Bourbonnais,  and  that  to 
this  connection  with  the  duchy  he  was  indebted  for 
the  moderate  countenance  and  assistance  which  he 
seems  to  have  received  at  the  hands  of  the  Princes  of 
the  ducal  family  of  Bourbon.  The  only  fact  certainly 
known  about  his  relatives  is  that  he  had  an  uncle,  a 
priest  established  at  Angers  in  Anjou,  to  whom  he 
paid  at  least  one  visit  with  a  sufficiently  questionable 
purpose,  and  that  the  rest  of  his  family  (with  the  ex- 
ception of  his  mother,  as  to  whom  we  possess  no 
biographical  details  whatever)  utterly  and  consistently 

24 


INTRODUCTION 

refused  to  recognise  him, —  according  to  his  own 
story,  because  of  his  lack  of  means, —  but,  it  may 
rather  be  assumed,  on  account  of  the  very  unsavoury 
nature  of  his  connections  and  the  incessant  scandal  of 
his  life.  Decent  people  (as  we  may  presume  these 
relatives  of  his  to  have  been)  might  well  be  allowed 
to  consider  their  connection  with  Master  François 
Villon  of  brawling,  wenching,  lock-picking  and  cheat- 
ing notoriety  as  anything  but  a  desirable  one,  and 
history  will  hardly  reproach  them  with  their  unwilling- 
ness to  cultivate  it.  However  this  may  be,  it  is 
certain  that  the  only  relative  who  appears  to  have  had 
any  share  in  Villon's  life  was  his  mother;  and  it  is 
little  likely  that  she,  whom  he  describes  as  a  poor  old 
woman,  unlettered  and  feeble,  and  who  (as  he  himself 
confesses)  suffered  on  his  account  "  bitter  anguish 
and  many  sorrows,"  could  have  exercised  any  consid- 
erable influence  over  her  brilliant,  turbulent,  ne'er-do- 
weel  son.  Yet  he  seems  always,  in  the  midst  of  the 
mire  of  his  life,  to  have  kept  one  place  in  his  heart 
white  with  that  filial  love  which  outlasts  all  others 
and  which  has  so  often  been  to  poets  the  perfume  of 
their  lives.  In  the  words  of  Théophile  Gautier,  his 
love  for  his  mother  shines  out  of  the  turmoil  and 
ferment  of  his  life  like  a  white  and  serene  lily  spring- 
ing from  the  heart  of  a  marsh.  His  father  he  only 
mentions  to  tell  us  that  he  is  dead,  when  or  how  there 
is  nothing  to  show,  and  to  state  that  he  was  poor  and 
of  mean  extraction,  nor  have  we  any  information  as 
to  his  condition  or  the  position  in  which  he  left  his 

25 


INTRODUCTION 

family.  We  do  not  even  know  whether  Villon's 
mother  inhabited  Paris  or  not,  but  it  would  appear 
probable  that  she  did,  from  his  mention  in  the  ballad 
that  bears  her  name  of  the  monstier  or  convent  church 
(probably  l'Eglise  des  Celestins*)  in  which  she  was 
wont  to  say  her  orisons  and  which  was  decorated  with 
paintings  little  likely  to  have  then  existed  in  any  of 
the  villages  about  Paris.  However,  the  want  of  living 
and  available  family  connections  was  amply  compen- 
sated to  Villon  by  the  protecting  care  of  a  patron  who 
seems  to  have  taken  him  under  his  wing  and  perhaps 
even  adopted  him  at  an  early  age.  Guillaume  de 
Villon,  the  patron  in  question,  was  a  respectable  and 
apparently  well-to-do  ecclesiastic,  belonging  to  a  fam- 
ily established  at  a  village  of  the  same  name  (which  I 
believe  still  exists),  Villon,  near  Tonnerre,  in  the 
dominions  of  the  ducal  house  of  Burgundy,  and  the 
worthy  priest  appears  to  have  turned  his  origin  to 
good   account    in    securing    the    patronage    of    that 


*I  cannot  agree  with  M.  Longnon  in  considering  the  Abbé 
Valentin  Dufour  wrong  in  his  suggestion  that  the  church  to  which 
Villon  makes  his  mother  refer  might  have  been  l'Eglise  des  Celes- 
tins, which  was  decorated  with  pictures  of  heaven  and  hell 
precisely  answering  to  the  description  in  the  ballad.  The  very 
word  used  by  Villon  {monstier,  i.  e.  monaster  ium,  the  old  form  of 
the  modern  moutier)  points  to  the  probability  of  the  church  having 
been  a  conventual  one  ;  and  we  need  not  read  the  words  "  dont  je 
suis  paroissienne  "  as  meaning  more  than  that  the  convent  where 
she  made  her  orisons  was  situated  in  her  own  parish  or  that  she 
was  a  regular  attendant  at  the  services  held  there  and  so  looked 
upon  it  as  practically  her  parish  church. 

26 


INTRODUCTION 

princely  family,  which  in  all  probability  he  was  able 
in  some  measure  to  divert  to  the  benefit  of  his 
protégé.  We  first  hear  of  Messire  Guillaume  as  one 
of  the  chaplains  of  the  parish  church  of  the  little 
village  of  Gentilly,  near  Paris,  during  his  occupancy 
of  which  cure  he  probably  formed  an  acquaintance 
with  the  poet's  family,  which  afterwards  led  to  his 
undertaking  the  charge  of  their  son.  About  the  year 
of  François'  birth,  Messire  Guillaume  obtained  a  long- 
awaited  promotion  :  through  the  influence,  probably, 
of  the  Burgundian  family  he  was  appointed  to  a  stall 
in  the  cathedral  church  of  St.  Benoît  le  Bétourné  or 
Bientourné  at  Paris,  a  lucrative  benefice,  involving, 
besides  a  handsome  residence  called  L'Hôtel  de  la 
Porte  Rouge,  in  the  Close  or  Cloister  of  St.  Benoît,  a 
considerable  piece  of  land  and  a  stipend  enabling  him 
to  live  at  his  ease.  In  addition  to  his  official  income, 
he  must  have  had  some  private  fortune,  as  he  pos- 
sessed, to  our  knowledge,  at  least  two  houses  in  the 
neighbourhood,  which  he  let  out  to  tenants,  and  a 
considerable  rent-charge  upon  a  third,  which  latter, 
however,  the  good  easy  man  appears  hardly  to  have 
troubled  himself  to  collect,  as,  at  the  time  it  is  men- 
tioned in  the  archives  of  the  Chapter,  we  find  it  is 
stated  that  no  less  than  eight  years'  rent  was  then  in 
arrear.  In  this  position  he  remained  till  his  death, 
which  occurred  in  1468;  and  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe  that  he  survived  his  protégé,  towards  whom, 
during  the  whole  of  his  life,  he  appears  never  to  have 
relaxed  from   untiring  and   unobtrusive  benevolence. 

27 


INTRODUCTION 

The  disreputable  nature  of  the  poet's  life  and  the 
perpetually  recurring  troubles  in  which  he  became 
involved  seem  to  have  had  no  effect  in  inducing  the 
good  Canon  to  withdraw  his  protection  from  so  appar- 
ently unworthy  an  object,  and  (according  to  Villon 
himself)  he  was  the  ordinary  Deus  ex  machina  to  whom 
the  poet  looked  for  deliverance  from  the  consequences 
of  his  own  folly  and  misconduct.  Of  no  other  person 
does  Villon  speak  in  the  same  unqualified  terms  of 
grateful  affection  as  of  the  Canon  of  St.  Benoît,  calling 
him  "  his  more  than  father,  who  had  been  to  him  more 
tender  than  mothers  to  their  sucking  babes."  Indeed, 
such  honour  and  affection  did  he  bear  him  that  we 
find  him  on  one  occasion  (with  a  consideration  little 
to  have  been  expected  from  such  a  scapegrace)  actually 
begging  the  good  Canon  to  leave  him  to  his  fate  and 
not  compromise  his  own  reputation  by  taking  any  steps 
in  the  interest  of  so  disreputable  a  connection. 

Of  the  early  life  of  Villon  we  know  nothing  what- 
ever, except  that  he  must  have  entered  at  the  University 
of  Paris  about  the  year  1446,  when  he  was  fifteen  years 
of  Age.  In  March  1449  he  was  admitted  to  the 
Baccalaureate  and  became  Licentiate  in  Theology  or 
Ecclesiastical  Law  and  Master  of  Arts  in  the  summer 
of  1452.  During  the  six  years  of  his  studies,  it  is 
probable  that  he  resided  with  Guillaume  de  Villon  at 
L'Hôtel  de  la  Porte  Rouge,  which  adjoined  the  Col 
lege  de  Sorbonne,  and  that  the  weekly  payment  of  two 
sols  Parisis,  which  as  a  scholar  he  was  bound  to  make 
to  the  collegiate  authorities,  and  the  fees  incurred  on 

28 


INTRODUCTION 

the  occasion  of  his  proceeding  to  his  degrees  were 
provided  by  his  patron.  It  frequently  happened  in 
mediaeval  times,  when  colleges  were  far  less  richly 
endowed  than  is  now  the  case,  that  the  want  of  official 
means  for  providing  such  aids  as  exhibitions  and 
bursaries  for  the  education  of  poor  scholars  was  sup- 
plied by  private  charity,  and  this  was,  indeed,  a 
favourite  mode  of  benefaction  with  rich  and  liberal- 
minded  folk.  The  special  college  at  which  Villon 
followed  the  courses  of  the  University  was  probably 
not  the  College  de  Sorbonne,  notwithstanding  its 
immediate  neighbourhood  to  L'Hôtel  de  la  Porte 
Rouge,  but  (and  this  I  am  inclined  to  suppose  from 
the  intimate  knowledge  he  displayed  of  its  internal 
arrangements  on  a  later  occasion)  the  College  de 
Navarre,  also  in  close  vicinity  to  the  Canon's  residence. 
It  is  possible  that  the  latter  intended  Villon  for  the 
church,  in  which  direction  lay  the  interest  he  could 
command  :  if  so,  his  intentions  were  completely 
frustrated,  for  Villon  never  (as  he  himself  tells  us) 
achieved  the  necessary  theological  degree;  and  sub- 
sequent events,  hardly  to  be  called  beyond  his  own 
control,  completely  diverted  him  from  the  pursuit  of 
the  liberal  professions  and  caused  him  to  become  the 
wolf  that  watches  for  an  opportunity  of  spoiling  the 
fold,  rather  than  the  shepherd  whose  duty  it  is  to 
guard  it.  The  interval  between  the  matriculation  of 
Villon  and  the  year  1455  is  an  almost  complete  blank 
for  us,  the  only  materials  we  have  to  enable  us  to 
follow  him   being  the  allusions  and  references  to  be 

29 


INTRODUCTION 

gleaned  from  a  study  of  his  poems;  but  it  was  cer- 
tainly during  this  period  of  his  life  that  he  contracted 
the  acquaintances,  disreputable  and  otherwise,  which 
exercised  so  decisive  an  influence  over  his  future 
history.  Amongst  those  belonging  to  the  former 
category  may  be  specially  cited  René  de  Montigny, 
Colin  de  Cayeulx,  Jehan  le  Loup,  Casin  Chollet  and 
Philip  Brunei,  Seigneur  de  Grigny,  all  scoundrels  of 
the  first  water;  and  for  women,  Huguette  du  Hamel, 
Abbess  of  Port  Royal  or  Pourras,  as  shining  a  light  in 
debauchery  as  any  of  his  male  friends,  and  la  petite 
Macée  of  Orleans,  his  first  mistress  ("  avoit  ma 
ceincture,"  says  he),  whom  he  characterises  as  "très 
mauvaise  ordure,"  a  thoroughly  bad  lot,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  obscure  rogues,  sharpers  and  women  of  ill-fame 
who  defile  in  so  endless  a  procession  through  his 
pages.  The  two  first  mentioned,  who  were  fellow- 
students  of  our  poet,  were  indeed  rogues  of  no  mean 
eminence  and  appear  both  to  have  attained  that 
distinction  of  "dying  upright  in  the  sun"  which  was 
at  once  so  fascinating  and  so  terrible  a  contingency  to 
Villon.  René  or  Régnier  de  Montigny  was  the  son  of 
a  man  of  noble  family  at  Bourges,  who,  possessing 
certain  fiefs  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Paris  and  a 
charge  in  the  royal  household,  accompanied  Charles 
VII  to  his  capital,  on  its  reduction  in  1436,  and  there 
died  shortly  after,  leaving  his  family  in  poor  circum- 
stances. Régnier,  who  was  two  years  older  than  Villon, 
early  distinguished  himself  by  criminal  exploits,  pur- 
suing an  ever  ascending  scale  of  gravity.     In  August 

30 


INTRODUCTION 

1452  he  was  banished  by  the  Provost  of  Paris  for  a 
disreputable  nocturnal  brawl,  in  which  he  had  beaten 
the  sergeants  of  the  watch  before  the  hostelry  of  La 
Grosse  Margot  ;  whereupon  he  betook  himself  to  the 
provinces,  and  after  there  exercising  his  peculiar 
talents  to  such  effect  as  to  be  imprisoned  for  various 
offences  at  Rouen,  Tours,  Bordeaux  and  Poitiers,  he 
once  more  ventured  to  Paris,  where  he  speedily  again 
came  under  the  notice  of  the  authorities.  After  a 
condemnation  for  the  comparatively  trifling  offence  of 
card-sharping,  he  was  sentenced  to  death  as  accessory 
to  a  murder  committed  in  the  Cemetery  of  the  Inno- 
cents ;  but  for  this  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  royal 
pardon.  This  narrow  escape,  however,  seems  to  have 
produced  no  salutary  effect  on  him,  for  in  1457,  after 
having  escaped  punishment  for  various  offences  by 
virtue  of  his  quality  of  clerk,  of  which  he  availed  him 
self  to  claim  protection  at  the  hands  of  the  Bishop  of 
Paris,  he  was  again  condemned  to  death  for  divers 
sacreligious  thefts  from  the  Parisian  churches,  and 
under  this  condemnation,  notwithstanding  a  pardon 
obtained  by  family  influence,  which  appears  to  have 
been  quashed  for  irregularity,  it  seems  certain  that  the 
world  was  at  last  made  rid  of  him  by  that  "longitudinal 
death  "  he  had  so  richly  deserved  ;  and  it  is  even  possi- 
ble that  he  had  the  honour  of  being  the  first  to  make 
essay  of  a  new  gibbet  in  that  year  erected  by  the  city  of 
Paris  and  afterwards  known  as  le  Gibet  de  Montigny. 

Colin  de  Cayeulx  was  no  less  eminent  as  a  scoun- 
drel.    The  son  of  a  Parisian  locksmith,  he  made  use 

3i 


INTRODUCTION 

of  his  knowledge  of  his  father's  trade  to  become  one 
of  the  most  artistic  thieves  presented  by  the  criminal 
annals  of  Paris  ;  and  it  is  in  this  his  especial  quality 
of  picklock  that  we  shall  again  come  across  him  in 
connection  with  Villon.  After  a  long  career  of  crime, 
he  was  in  1460  condemned  to  death  as  (in  the  words 
of  the  Procureur  du  Roi)  "an  incorrigible  thief,  pick- 
lock, marauder  and  sacreligious  scoundrel,"  unworthy 
to  enjoy  the  much-abused  benefit  of  clergy,  by  which 
he  and  rascals  of  his  kidney  had  so  often  profited  to 
escape  the  consequences  of  their  crimes.  Neverthe- 
less, the  sentence  was,  for  reasons  unknown,  not 
carried  into  effect,  and  he  appears  even  to  have  been 
set  at  liberty.  But  his  immunity  was  not  of  long 
duration  ;  we  know  from  Villon  himself  that,  certainly 
not  later  than  the  next  year,  his  infamous  companion 
was  broken  on  the  wheel  for  "  esbats  "  or  gambols  (as 
he  euphemistically  styles  them),  the  least  of  which 
appears  to  have  been  rape  or  highway  robbery, 
perpetrated  at  the  villages  of  Rueil  near  Paris  and 
Montpippeau  near  Orleans. 

Of  the  Seigneur  de  Grigny  we  know  little  but 
through  Villon  himself,  who  places  him  in  the  same 
category  as  Montigny  by  bequeathing  to  him  the  right 
of  shelter  in  various  ruins  round  Paris,  which  were 
then  the  favourite  resorts  and  strongholds  of  the 
choicest  thieves  and  vagabonds  of  the  time,  and 
speaks  of  him  in  such  terms  as  leave  little  doubt  that 
his  "  lay  "  or  criminal  speciality  was  the  coining  and 
uttering  of  false  money. 

32 


INTRODUCTION 

Jehan  le  Loup  and  Casin  Chollet  were  scoundrels 
of  a  lower  rank  or  "  sneak-thieves,"  dealing  chiefly  in 
petty  thefts  of  poultry  and  other  eatables  :  the  former 
appears  to  have  been  a  bargee  and  fisherman  in  the 
service  of  the  municipality  of  Paris,  by  whom  he  was 
employed  to  keep  the  moats  and  wet  ditches  of  the 
city  clean  and  free  from  weeds,  an  occupation  which 
afforded  him  peculiar  facilities  for  marauding  among 
the  numerous  herds  of  ducks  and  geese  kept  by  the 
corporation  and  the  adjacent  commoners  of  the  city 
upon  the  waters  which  he  traversed  in  his  dredging 
boat  ;  the  latter,  by  the  operation  of  that  curious  law 
of  reciprocal  attraction  between  the  police  and  the 
criminal  classes,  of  whose  prevalence  in  countries  of 
the  Latin  race  so  many  instances  exist,  after  a  turbu- 
lent early  life,  became  tipstaff  at  the  Châtelet  prison 
and  was  in  1465  deprived  of  his  office,  flogged  at  the 
cart's  tail  and  imprisoned,  for  having  spread  false 
reports  (probably  with  a  professional  eye  to  plunder) 
of  the  entry  into  Paris  of  the  Burgundians,  who  then 
lay  leaguer  at  the  gates,  under  the  command  of 
Charles  the  Rash. 

The  Abbess  of  Port  Royal  is  another  curious  figure 
in  the  history  of  criminality.  Of  a  good  family  and 
holding  a  rich  abbacy,  she  early  distinguished  herself 
by  leading  a  life  of  unbridled  licentiousness,  associat- 
ing with  all  the  lewd  characters  of  her  time,  frequenting 
houses  of  ill-fame  and  debauchery  in  male  attire,  brawl- 
ing and  fighting  in  the  streets,  holding  orgies  in  the 
convent   itself,    which  remind  us    of   the    legends   of 

33 


INTRODUCTION 

Gilles  de  Retz,  and  selling  the  nuns  under  her  control 
for  the  purposes  of  prostitution.  So  notorious  were 
her  excesses  and  misconduct  in  Paris  that  she  became 
the  subject  of  a  satirical  popular  song,  whose  author 
she  caused  to  be  beaten  to  death.  P'or  these  and 
many  other  shameless  acts  she  was  at  last  brought  to 
account,  imprisoned  and  finally,  after  many  shifts  of 
litigation,  definitively  deprived  of  her  abbey,  when  she 
doubtless  sank  to  the  lowest  depths  of  degradation. 
By  reason  of  her  wanton  way  of  life,  the  people  appear 
to  have  corrupted  her  title  and  to  have  dubbed  her 
Abbesse  de  Poilras  or  Shaven-poll,  a  slang  name  then 
given  to  women  of  ill-fame  who  had  been  pilloried  and 
had  their  heads  shaved.  We  know  from  Villon  him- 
self that  she  was  a  companion  of  his  on  at  least  one 
occasion,  and  it  was  probably  during  one  of  her 
excursions  in  man's  attire  that  she  and  the  poet  in 
1455  paid  their  famous  visit  to  Perrot  Girard,  the 
unfortunate  barber  of  Bourg  la  Reine,  near  Paris,  and 
lived  for  a  week  at  his  expense  and  that  of  his  brood 
of  sucking  pigs. 

However,  besides  these  disreputable  acquaintances, 
Villon  seems  to  have  become  intimate  with  many  per- 
sons to  whom  his  merry,  devil-may-care  disposition, 
and  perhaps  also  his  wit  and  genius,  made  him  accept- 
able whilst  he  and  they  were  young:  of  these  some 
were  fellow-students  of  his  own,  others  apparently 
people  of  better  rank  and  position,  those  "  gracious 
gallants,  "  "  so  fair  of  fashion  and  of  show,  in  song  and 
speech  so  excellent,"  whom,  as  he  himself  tells  us,  he 

34 


INTRODUCTION 

frequented  in  his  youth.  Some  of  these,  says  he,  after 
became  "  masters  and  lords  and  great  of  grace  ;  "  and  it 
was  no  doubt  to  the  kindly  remembrance  which  these 
latter  cherished  of  the  jolly,  brilliant  companion  of 
their  youth  that  he  owed  something  of  his  comparative 
immunity  from  punishment  for  the  numberless  faults 
and  follies  which  he  committed  at  a  subsequent  and 
less  favoured  period.  Of  these  (M.  Longnon  has 
discovered  for  us)  were  Martin  Bellefaye,  Loid  of 
Ferrières  en  Brie,  afterwards  Advocate  at  the  Châtelet 
and  Lieutenant-Criminel  of  the  Provost  of  Paris  ; 
Pierre  Basanier,  Notary  and  afterwards  Clerc-Criminel 
at  the  Châtelet  ;  Pierre  Blaru,  Guillaume  Charriau, 
Robert  Valée,  Thomas  Tricot,  all  men  of  some  impor- 
tance in  law  or  trade  at  Paris;  and  (possibly  through 
his  son)  Robert  d'Estouteville,  Provost  of  Paris,  to 
whom  Villon,  in  his  student-days,  dedicated  the  curi- 
ous ballad  on  the  subject  of  his  marriage  with 
Ambroise  de  Lore.  It  is  by  no  means  impossible  that 
from  this  time  of  pleasant  companionship  and  com- 
parative respectability  dates  Villon's  connection  with 
the  royal  poet,  Charles  d'Orléans  ;  and  that  he  may 
also  have  become  known  to  the  then  Dauphin  (after- 
wards Louis  XI)  is  almost  equally  likely,  in  view  of 
the  habits  of  familiar  intercourse  of  the  latter  with  the 
burghers  and  clerks  of  Paris  and  his  well-known  love 
of  and  taste  for  literature.  It  appears  certain  that 
Louis  had  some  knowledge  of  and  liking  for  Villon, 
founded  probably  on  admiration  of  his  wit  and  genius  ; 
and  it  was  assuredly  owing   to  this,  and  not  to  any 

35 


INTRODUCTION 

general  amnesty  de  joyeux  avènement,  that  the  poet 
owed  his  last  remission  of  the  capital  penalty  at  the 
hands  of  so  severe  a  monarch  as  the  titular  author  of 
the  "Cent  Nouvelles  Nouvelles,"  for  which  he  shows 
(in  the  Greater  Testament)  so  special  and  personal  a 
gratitude  as  almost  to  preclude  the  idea  of  its  having 
been  granted  otherwise  than  as  a  matter  of  peculiar 
and  personal  favour. 

This  early  period  of  Villon's  life,  extending  at  least 
up  to  his  twenty-fourth  year,  appears  to  have  been  free 
from  crime  or  misconduct  of  any  very  gross  character. 
Although  he  himself  laments  that  he  had  neglected  to 
study  in  his  youth,  whereby  he  might  have  slept  warm 
in  his  old  age,  and  expressly  states  that  he  fled  from 
school  as  bird  from  cage,  we  have  seen  that,  if  he  did 
not  achieve  the  presumable  object  of  his  college  career, 
namely,  the  Maîtrise  or  Doctorate  of  Theology,  he  yet 
paid  sufficient  attention  to  his  studies  to  enable  him 
to  acquire  the  title  of  Master  of  Arts,  and  it  would 
appear  that  he  had  even  been  presented  to  what  he 
calls  a  simple-tonsure  chapelry,  possibly  one  of  the 
numerous  quasi-sinecure  offices  connected  with  the 
churches  or  ecclesiastical  machinery  of  the  diocese  of 
Paris,  which  were  reserved  as  prizes  for  the  more 
industrious  and  deserving  scholars.  M.  Longnon 
is  of  opinion  that  he  eked  out  the  small  revenue  of 
this  office  by  taking  pupils,  and  amongst  them  the  three 
poor  orphans  to  whom  he  so  frequently  alludes  ;  but  I 
confess  I  see  no  ground  for  this  supposition  with 
regard  to  the  latter,  of  whom  he  always  speaks  in  such 

36 


INTRODUCTION 

terms  as  to  lead  us  to  suppose  them  to  have  been  actually 
foundlings  dependent  wholly  upon  his  bounty.  In  1456 
he  describes  them  as  "  three  little  children  all  bare,  poor, 
unprovided  orphans,  shoeless  and  helpless,  naked  as  a 
worm,"  and  makes  provision  for  their  entertainment 
for  at  least  one  winter  ;  and  I  am  unable,  therefore,  to 
discover  how  M.  Longnon  justifies  his  hypothesis  that 
they  were  young  men  of  good  or  well-to-do  families 
confided  to  Villon's  tuition.  On  the  other  hand  it  is 
by  no  means  impossible  that  some  of  the  numerous 
unidentified  persons  mentioned  in  the  Testaments  may- 
have  been  pupils  of  the  poet  at  the  period  of  which  I 
speak.  At  all  events,  however  he  may  have  earned 
his  living,  it  seems  certain  that  up  to  the  early  part  of 
the  year  1455  he  committed  no  act  which  brought  him 
under  the  unfavourable  notice  of  the  police  ;  and  we 
find,  indeed,  in  a  subsequent  document  under  the 
royal  seal,  his  assertion,  that  "  he  had  till  then  well 
and  honourably  governed  himself,  without  having  been 
attaint,  reproved  or  convicted  of  any  ill  case,  blame  or 
reproach,"  accepted  without  question,  as  would  cer- 
tainly not  have  been  the  case  had  he  been  previously 
unfavourably  known  to  the  authorities.  Yet  it  is  evi- 
dent, both  on  his  own  showing  and  on  the  authority 
of  popular  report,  especially  of  the  curious  collection 
of  anecdotes  in  verse  known  as  "  Les  Repues  Franches  " 
or  "  Free  Feeds  "  (of  which  he  was  the  hero,  not  the 
author,  and  in  which  one  phase  of  his  many-sided 
character  and  career  is  recorded),  that  his  life  during 
this  interval,  if  not  actually  trenching  upon  the  limits 

37 


INTRODUCTION 

of  strictly  punishable  offences,  was  yet  one  of  suffici- 
ently disreputable  character  and  marked  by  such 
license  and  misconduct  as  would  assuredly,  in  more 
settled  and  law-abiding  times,  have  early  brought  his 
career  to  a  disgraceful  close.  He  himself  tells  us  that 
he  lived  more  merrily  than  most  in  his  youth  ;  and  we 
need  only  refer  to  the  remarkable  list  of  wine-shops, 
rogues  and  women  of  ill-fame  with  which  he  shows  so 
familiar  an  acquaintance,  to  satisfy  ourselves  that 
much  of  his  time  must  have  been  spent  in  debauchery 
and  wantonness  of  the  most  uncompromising  character. 
It  is  not  likely  that  the  supplies  of  money  he  could  have 
obtained  from  legitimate  sources,  such  as  the  kindness 
of  Guillaume  de  Villon,  the  practice  of  tuition  and 
the  offices  he  may  have  gained  as  prizes  during  his 
scholastic  career,  would  have  sufficed  for  the  prodigal 
expenditure  naturally  consequent  upon  his  depraved 
tastes.  On  his  own  showing,  he  possessed  a  happy 
combination  of  most  of  the  vices  which  lead  a  man  to 
fling  away  his  life  in  the  quagmires  of  dissipation  ;  — 
amorous,  gluttonous,  a  drunkard,  a  spendthrift  and  a 
gambler,  —  no  thought  of  future  consequences  seems 
ever  to  have  been  allowed  to  intervene  between  him 
and  the  satisfaction  of  his  debased  desires  ;  and  it 
was  only  in  the  intervals  of  disaster  and  depression 
(naturally  of  frequent  occurrence  in  such  a  life)  that 
the  better  nature  of  the  man  breaks  out  in  notes 
of  bitter  anguish  and  heartfelt  sorrow,  of  which  it  is 
difficult  to  doubt  the  genuineness,  although  the  mer- 
curial humour  of  the  poet  quickly  allows  them  to  merge 

38 


INTRODUCTION 

into  mocking  cadences  of  biting  satire  and    scornful 
merriment. 

It  was  therefore  to  provide  for  the  satisfaction  of 
his  inclinations  towards  debauchery  that  he  became 
gradually  entangled  in  complications  of  bad  company 
and  questionable  dealings  which  led  him  step  by  step 
to  that  maze  of  crime  and  disaster  in  which  his  whole 
after-life  was  wrecked.  In  "Les  Repues  Franches" 
—  a  work  not  published  till  long  after  his  death, 
whose  assertions,  apparently  founded  upon  popular 
tradition  (for  Villon,  quickly  as  his  memory  faded  after 
the  middle  of  the  next  century,  seems  to  have  been  a 
prominent  and  favourite  personality  among  his  con- 
temporaries of  Paris)  are  amply  endorsed  by  the 
confessions  of  the  poet  himself — we  find  him  repre- 
sented as  the  head  of  a  band  of  scholars,  poor  clerks 
and  beggars,  "  learning  at  others'  expense,"  all 
"gallants  with  sleeveless  pourpoints,"  "having  per- 
petual occasions  for  gratuitous  feeds,  both  winter  and 
summer,"  who  are  classed  under  the  generic  title  of 
"Les  Sujets  François  Villon,"  and  into  whose  mouth 
the  author  puts  this  admirable  dogma  of  despotic 
equality  —  worthy  of  that  hero  of  our  own  times,  the 
British  working-man  himself  —  "  Whoso  hath  nothing, 
it  behoves  that  he  fare  better  than  any  one  else." 
"Le  bon  Maître  François  Villon"  comforts  his  "compaig- 
nons,"  who  are  described  as  not  being  worth  two  sound 
onions,  with  the  assurance  that  they  shall  want  for 
nothing,  but  shall  presently  have  bread,  wine  and 
roast-meat  à  grant  foyson,  and  proceeds  to  practise  a 

39 


INTRODUCTION 

series  of  tricks  after  the  manner  of  Till  Eulenspiegel, 
by  which,  chiefly  through  the  persuasiveness  of  his  hon- 
eyed tongue,  he  succeeds  in  procuring  them  where- 
withal to  make  merry  and  enjoy  great  good  cheer. 
Provided  with  stolen  bread,  fish,  meat  and  other 
victual  to  their  hearts'  desire,  the  jolly  scoundrels  re- 
member that  they  owe  it  as  a  duty  to  themselves  to 
get  drunk  and  that  if  they  would  fain  arrive  at  that 
desirable  consummation,  they  must  needs  furnish 
themselves  with  liquor  at  some  one  else's  expense. 
Master  François  is  equal  to  the  occasion  ;  taking  two 
pitchers  of  precisely  similar  appearance,  one  filled 
with  fair  water  and  the  other  empty,  he  repairs  to  the 
celebrated  tavern  of  the  Fir  Apple,  situate  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Juiverie,  (of  which  and  its  landlord,  Robin 
Turgis,  mention  is  so  often  made  in  Villon's  verse), 
and  requests  to  have  the  empty  pitcher  filled  with  the 
best  of  their  white  wine.  This  being  done,  in  a 
twinkling  the  accomplished  sharper  changes  the 
pitchers  and  pretending  to  examine  the  contents,  asks 
the  tapster  what  kind  of  wine  he  has  given  him,  to 
which  he  replies  that  it  is  white  wine  of  Baigneux. 
"Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool?"  cries  Villon.  "Take 
back  your  rubbish.  I  asked  for  good  white  wine  of 
Beaune  and  will  have  none  other."  So  saying,  he  emp- 
ties the  pitcher  of  water  into  the  cask  of  Baigneux  wine 
—  the  tapster  of  course  supposing  it  to  be  the  liquor 
with  which  he  had  just  served  him  — and  makes  off, 
in  triumph,  with  the  pitcherful  of  white  wine,  which 
he  has  thus  obtained  at  the  unlucky  vintner's  expense. 

40 


INTRODUCTION 

The  landlord  of  the  Fir  Apple  seems  to  have  been  a 
favourite  subject  for  the  roguish  tricks  of  the  poet, 
who  confesses  in  his  Greater  Testament  that  he  had 
stolen  from  him  fourteen  hogsheads  of  white  wine  of 
Aulnis  and  adds  insult  to  injury  by  offering  to  pay 
him,  if  he  will  come  to  him,  but  (says  he  slily)  "  if  he 
find  out  my  lodging,  he'll  be  wiser  than  any  wizard." 
This  colossal  theft  of  wine  was  probably  perpetrated 
on  a  cartload  on  its  way  to  Turgis,  and  perhaps  fur- 
nished forth  the  great  Repue  Franche  alluded  to  in 
Villon's  Seemly  Lesson  to  the  Wastrils  or  Good-for- 
Noughts,  apropos  of  which  he  so  pathetically  laments 
that  even  a  load  of  wine  is  drunk  out  at  last,  "  by  fire 
in  winter  or  woods  in  summer." 

From  tricks  of  this  kind,  devoted  to  obtaining  the 
materials  for  those  orgies  in  which  his  soul  delighted, 
there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  did  not  lightly 
pass  to  others  more  serious  or  that  he  shrank  from 
the  employment  of  more  criminal  means  of  obtaining 
the  money  which  was  equally  necessary  for  the  indul- 
gence of  the  licentious  humours  of  himself  and  his 
companions.  In  the  words  of  the  anonymous  author 
of  "  Les  Repues  Franches,"  "  He  was  the  nursing 
mother  of  those  who  had  no  money  ;  in  swindling 
behind  and  before  he  was  a  most  diligent  man."  So 
celebrated  was  he,  indeed,  as  a  man  of  expedients, 
that  he  attained  the  rare  honour  of  becoming  a  popu- 
lar type  and  the  word  "  villonnerie  "  was  long  used 
among  the  lower  classes  of  Paris  to  describe  such 
sharping  practices  as  were  traditionally  attributed  to 

41 


INTRODUCTION 

Villon  as  the  great  master  of  the  art  ;  even  as  from 
the  later  roguish  type  of  Till  Eulenspiegel,  Gallicé 
Ulespiègle  (many  of  the  traditional  stories  of  whose 
rogueries  are  founded  upon  Villon's  exploits),  is 
derived  the  still  extant  word  "  espièglerie." 

Villon,  indeed,  appears  to  have  at  once  attained  the 
summit  of  his  roguish  profession  :  ready  of  wit,  elo- 
quent of  tongue,  he  seems  to  have  turned  all  the  re- 
sources of  his  vivid  poetical  imagination  to  the  service  of 
his  debauched  desires  and  so  generally  was  his  superi- 
ority admitted  that,  when  he  afterwards  more  seriously 
adopted  the  profession  of  "  hook  and  crook,"  he  seems 
to  have  been  at  once  recognised  by  the  knights  of  the 
road  and  the  prison  as,  if  not  their  actual  chief,  at 
least  the  directing  and  devising  head,  upon  whose 
ingenious  and  methodical  ordering  was  dependent  the 
success  of  all  their  more  important  operations. 

At  this  period,  in  all  probability,  came  into  action 
another  personage,  whose  influence  seems  never  to 
have  ceased  to  affect  Villon's  life  and  who  (if  we  may 
trust  to  his  own  oft-repeated  asseverations)  was  mainly 
responsible  for  his  ill-directed  and  untimely-ended  ca- 
reer. This  was  a  young  lady  named  Catherine  de  Vau- 
celles  or  Vaucel  and  (according  to  M.  Longnon's 
plausible  conjecture)  either  the  niece  or  cousin  of  one  of 
the  Canons  of  St.  Benoît,  Pierre  de  Vaucel,  who  occu- 
pied a  house  in  the  cloister,  within  a  door  or  two  of 
L'Hôtel  de  la  Porte  Rouge.  Her  family  inhabited  the 
Rue  St.  Jacques,  in  which  stood  the  Church  of  St. 
Benoît  ;  and  it  is   very   probable   that  she  may  have 

42 


INTRODUCTION 

altogether  resided  with  her  uncle  for  the  purpose  of 
ordering  his  household,  in  accordance  with  a  custom 
of  general  prevalence  among  ecclesiastics,  on  whom 
celibacy  was  enforced, —  or  that  through  her  connection 
with  the  cloister  was  afforded  to  Villon  the  opportunity 
of  forming  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  her,  which 
speedily  developed  into  courtship.  Catherine  de 
Vaucelles  would  appear  (if  we  may  accept  Villon's 
designation  of  her  as  a  demoiselle)  to  have  been  a 
young  lady  of  good  or  at  least  respectable  family  and 
it  would  seem  also  that  she  was  a  finished  coquette. 
Throughout  the  whole  of  Villon's  verse  the  remem- 
brance of  the  one  chaste  and  real  love  of  his  life  is 
ever  present  and  he  is  fertile  in  invective  against  the 
cruelty  and  infidelity  of  his  mistress.  According  to 
his  own  account,  however,  the  love  seems  to  have 
been  entirely  on  his  side  ;  for,  although  she  amused 
him  by  feigned  kindness  and  unimportant  concessions, 
he  himself  allows  that  she  never  gave  him  any  suffi- 
cient reason  to  hope,  reproaching  her  bitterly  for  not 
having  at  first  told  him  her  true  intent,  in  which  case 
he  would  have  enforced  himself  to  break  the  ties  that 
bound  him  to  her.  She  appears,  indeed,  to  have  taken 
delight  in  making  mock  of  him  and  playing  with  his 
affections;  but,  often  as  he  bethought  himself  to 
renounce  his  unhappy  attachment,  to 

"  Resign  and  be  at  peace," 
he  seems,  with  the  true  temper  of  a  lover,   to   have 
always  returned    before    long   to    his    vainly-caressed 
hope.     No  assertion  does  he  more  frequently  repeat 

43 


INTRODUCTION 

than  that  this  his  early  love  was  the  cause  of  all  his 
misfortunes  and  of  his  untimely  death.  "  I  die  a  mar- 
tyr to  love,"  he  says,  "  enrolled  among  the  saints 
thereof;"  and  the  expression  of  his  anguish  is  often 
so  poignant  that  we  can  hardly  refuse  to  believe  in  the 
reality  of  his  passion.  Nevertheless,  he  does  not 
accuse  the  girl  of  having  favoured  others  at  his 
expense.  "  Though  I  never  got  a  spark  of  hope  from 
her,"  he  says,  "  I  know  not  nor  care  if  she  be  as  harsh 
to  others  as  to  me  ;  "  and  indeed  he  seems  to  imply 
that  she  was  too  fond  of  money  to  be  accessible  to 
any  other  passion.  One  of  the  persons  mentioned  in 
the  poems  was  perhaps  a  rival  of  his,  as  he  tells  us, 
in  his  Ballad  of  Light  Loves,  that  a  certain  Noé  or 
Noel  was  present  when  he  (Villon)  was  beaten  as 
washerwomen  beat  clothes  by  the  river,  all  naked,  and 
that  on  account  of  the  aforesaid  Catherine  de  Vau- 
celles  ;  and  as  he  says  "  Noel  was  the  third  who  was 
there,"  assuming  the  other  person  present  to  have  been 
the  lady,  we  may  fairly  suppose  that  Noel  was  a  more 
favoured  lover  of  Catherine's,  by  whom  was  admin- 
istered to  Villon  the  correction  of  which  he  speaks  so 
bitterly,  probably  on  the  occasion  of  a  sham  rendezvous, 
in  the  nature  of  a  trap,  devised  by  Catherine  to  get 
rid  of  an  importunate  lover.  This  presumption  is 
strengthened  by  the  fact  that  in  the  Lesser  Testament, 
speaking  of  his  unhappy  love  affair,  he  says,  "  Other 
than  I,  who  is  younger  and  can  rattle  more  coin,  is  in 
favour  with  her  ;  *  "  and  that  in  the  Greater  Testament 

*  I  quote  a  variant  of  Oct.  vii. 

44 


INTRODUCTION 

he  bequeaths  to  Noel  le  Jolys  (who  may  fairly  be 
taken  to  be  the  Noé  mentioned  above)  the  unpleasant 
legacy  of  two  hundred  and  twenty  strokes,  to  be  hand- 
somely laid  on  with  a  handful  of  green  osier  rods  by 
Maître  Henriot,  the  executioner  of  Paris.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  Catherine  may,  for  a  while,  have  encouraged 
Villon  out  of  cupidity,  and  after  getting  all  she  could 
out  of  him,  have  thrown  him  off  for  a  better-furnished 
admirer  ;  but  of  this  we  find  no  assertion  in  his  poems, 
although,  if  we  may  believe  in  the  authenticity  of 
certain  pieces  attributed  to  him  in  the  "  Jardin  de 
Plaisance,"  he  accuses  her  of  compelling  him  to  be 
always  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket  to  purchase  her 
good  graces,  now  asking  for  a  velvet  gown  and  now 
for  "  high  headgear"  {haults  atours)  or  the  like  costly 
articles  of  dress;  and  (in  a  ballad  coming  under  the 
same  category)  he  speaks  of  her  "  corps  tant  vicieux  " 
and  reproaches  her  with  having  sold  him  her  favours 
for  twenty  rose-crowns  and  having,  after  draining  him 
dry,  transferred  her  interested  affections  to  a  hideous 
but  rich  old  man,  although  (says  he)  "  I  was  so  devoted 
to  her,  that  had  she  asked  me  to  give  her  the  moon,  I 
had  essayed  to  scale  the  heavens."  However,  these 
pieces  seem  to  be  wrongly  assigned  to  Villon  ;  and  in 
despite  of  the  epithet,  "foul  wanton,"  applied  to  her, 
probably  in  a  passing  fit  of  irritability  and  jealousy, — 
such  as  at  times  overcomes  the  most  respectful  and 
devoted  of  unrequited  lovers,  —  all  the  authentic 
evidence  we  possess  points  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
young  lady  was  guilty  of  no  serious  misconduct  towards 

45 


INTRODUCTION 

Villon  beyond  that  ordinary  coquetry  and  love  of  ad- 
miration, and  perhaps  of  amusement,  which  may  have 
led  her  to  give  some  passing  encouragement  to  the 
merry,  witty  poet  of  the  early  days  ;  and  this  hypoth- 
esis he  himself  confirms  by  the  pure  and  beautiful 
ballad  which  he  dedicates  to  her,  prefacing  it,  however, 
with  the  delicately  deprecatory  qualification  that  he 
had  composed  it  to  acquit  himself  towards  Love  rather 
than  her, —  a  ballad  which  breathes  the  chastest  and 
most  romantic  spirit  of  wistful  love  and  anticipates  for 
us  Ronsard,  as  he  pictures  his  lady  in  her  old  age, 
sitting  with  her  maidens  at  the  veillée  and  proudly 
recalling  to  herself  and  her  companions  that  she  had 
been  celebrated  by  her  poet-lover  "du  temps  que 
j'étais  belle." 

True  and  permanent  as  was  the  love  of  Villon  for 
Catherine,  it  does  not  seem  to  have  restrained  him 
from  the  fréquentation  of  those  light  o'  loves,  whose 
names  so  jostle  each  other  in  his  pages.  La  Belle 
Heaulmière,  Blanche  the  Slippermaker,  Guillemette 
the  Upholsteress,  Macée  of  Orleans,  Katherine  the 
Spurmaker,  Denise,  Jacqueline,  Perrette,  Isabeau, 
Marion  the  Statue,  tall  Jehanne  of  Brittany,  a  cloud  of 
lorettes  and  grisettes,  trip  and  chatter  through  his 
reminiscences  ;  and  with  two  of  them,  Jehanneton  la 
Chaperonnière  and  La  Grosse  Margot,  he  appears 
to  have  formed  permanent  connections.  No  doubt 
the  femmes  folks  de  leur  corps,  with  whom  Paris  has 
ever  abounded,  were  not  wanting  at  the  fantastic 
revels  carried  on  by  our  Bohemian  and  his  band  of 

46 


INTRODUCTION 

scapegraces  in  the  ruins  of  Nygeon,  Billy  and  Bicètre, 
or  the  woods  to  be  met  with  at  a  bowshot  in  every 
direction  round  the  Paris  of  his  time.  "  III  cat  to  ill 
rat,"  as  he  himself  says  ;  the  feminine  element  was 
hardly  likely  to  be  wanting  for  the  completion  of  the 
perfect  disreputable  harmony  of  his  surroundings. 


47 


Ill 


This  early  period  of  comparative  innocence,  or  at 
least  obscurity,  was  now  drawing  to  a  close  and  its 
conclusion  was  marked  for  Villon  by  a  disaster  which 
in  all  probability  arose  from  his  connection  with  Cath- 
erine de  Vaucelles  and  which  fell  like  a  thunderbolt 
on  the  careless  merriment  of  his  life.  On  the  even- 
ing of  the  5th  June  1455,  the  day  of  the  Fête-Dieu, 
Villon  was  seated  on  a  stone  bench  under  the  clock- 
tower  of  the  Church  of  St.  Benoît,  in  the  Rue  St. 
Jacques,  in  company  with  a  priest  called  Gilles  and  the 
girl  Isabeau  above  mentioned  (who  is  noted  in  the 
Greater  Testament  as  making  constant  use  of  a  partic- 
ular phrase,  "  Enné  "  or  "  Is  it  not  ?"),*  with  whom  he 
had  supped  and  sallied  out  at  about  nine  o'clock  to 
enjoy  the  coolness  of  the  night  air.  As  they  sat  talk- 
ing, there  came  up  to  them  a  priest  called  Philippe 
Chermoye  or  Sermoise  and  a  friend  of  his  named 
Jehan  le  Merdi,  a  graduate  of  the  University.  Cher- 
moye, who  was  probably  a  rival  of  Villon  for  the  good 
graces  of  Catherine  de  Vaucelles,  appeared  in  a  furious 
state  of  exasperation  against  the  poet  and  swaggered 
up  to  him,  exclaiming,  "  So  I  have  found  you  at  last  !  " 
Villon  rose  and  courteously  offered  him  room  to  sit 
down;  but  the  other  pushed  him  rudely  back  into  his 


*  Lett.     Anne  ?     Isabeau   would  probably  have  used  the  French 
equivalent  of  "  Ain't  it?" 


48 


INTRODUCTION 

place,  saying,  "  I  warrant  I'll  anger  you  !  "  To  which 
the  poet  replied,  "Why  do  you  accost  me  thus  angrily, 
Master  Philip  ?  What  harm  have  I  done  you  ? 
What  is  your  will  of  me  ?  "  and  would  have  retired 
into  the  cloister  for  safety  ;  but  Chermoye,  pursuing 
him  to  the  gate  of  the  close,  drew  a  great  rapier  from 
under  his  gown  and  smote  him  grievously  on  the  lower 
part  of  the  face,  slitting  his  underlip  and  causing 
great  effusion  of  blood.  At  this  Gilles  and  Isabeau 
took  the  alarm  and  apparently  fearing  to  be  involved 
in  the  affray,  made  off,  leaving  Villon  alone  and  unsup- 
ported. Maddened  by  the  pain  of  his  wound  and  by 
the  blood  with  which  he  felt  himself  covered,  the  lat- 
ter drew  a  short  sword  that  he  carried  under  his  walk- 
ing cloak  and  in  endeavouring  to  defend  himself, 
wounded  his  aggressor  in  the  groin,  without  being  at 
the  time  aware  of  what  he  had  done.  At  this  juncture 
Jehan  le  Merdi  came  up  and  seeing  his  friend  wounded, 
crept  treacherously  behind  Villon  and  caught  away  his 
sword.  Finding  himself  defenceless  against  Chermoye, 
who  persisted  in  loading  him  with  abuse  and  sought 
to  give  him  the  finishing  stroke  with  his  long  sword, 
the  wretched  François  looked  about  for  some  means 
of  defence  and  seeing  a  big  stone  at  his  feet,  snatched 
it  up  and  flung  it  in  the  priest's  face  with  such  force 
and  precision  that  the  latter  fell  to  the  ground  insen- 
sible. Villon  immediately  went  off  to  get  his  wounds 
dressed  by  a  barber  named  Fouquet,  who,  in  accor- 
dance with  the  police  regulations  affecting  such  cases, 
demanded  of  him  his  name  and  that  of  his  assailant. 

49 


INTRODUCTION 

To  him  Villon  accordingly  related  the  whole  affair, 
giving  his  own  name  as  Michel  Mouton  and  stating 
his  intention  on  the  morrow  to  procure  Chermoye's 
arrest  for  the  unprovoked  assault.  Meantime,  some 
passers-by  found  the  priest  lying  unconscious  on  the 
pavement  of  the  cloister,  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his 
hand,  and  carried  him  into  one  of  the  houses  in  the 
close,  where  his  wounds  were  dressed  and  whence  he 
was  next  day  transferred  to  the  hospital  of  L'Hotel 
Dieu,  where  on  the  Saturday  following  he  died  ;  the 
words  of  the  record  ("  pour  faute  de  bon  gouvernement 
ou  autrement  ")  leaving  it  doubtful  whether  his  death 
was  not  rather  due  to  unskilful  treatment  than  to  his 
actual  wounds.  Before  his  death,  however,  he  had 
been  visited  and  examined  by  one  of  the  apparitors  of 
the  Châtelet,  to  whom  he  related  the  whole  affair, 
expressing  a  wish  that  no  proceedings  should  be  taken 
against  Villon,  to  whom,  he  said,  he  forgave  his  death, 
"  by  reason  of  certain  causes  moving  him  thereunto  ;" 
words  which  seem  to  tell  strongly  in  favour  of  the 
hypothesis  that  the  quarrel  bore  some  relation  to 
Catherine  de  Vaucelles.  However,  Villon  was  sum- 
moned before  the  Châtelet  Court  to  answer  for  Cher- 
moye's death,  but  (as  the  record  says)  "  fearing  rigour 
of  justice,"  he  had  availed  himself  of  the  interval  to 
take  to  flight  and  appears  to  have  left  Paris.  No  record 
of  the  proceedings  against  him  appears  to  be  extant, 
but  the  probabilities  point  to  his  having  been  convicted 
in  his  absence  and  condemned,  in  default,  to  banish- 
ment from  the  kingdom.     However,  his  exile  did  not 

5° 


INTRODUCTION 

last  long.  In  January  1456  he  presented  a  petition 
to  the  Crown,  setting  forth  that  up  to  the  time  of  the 
brawl  "  he  had  been  known  as  a  man  of  good  life  and 
renown  and  honest  conversation  and  had  in  all  things 
well  and  honourably  governed  himself,  without  having 
been  attaint,  reproved  or  convicted  of  any  other  ill 
case,  blame  or  reproach  whatsoever,"  and  praying  the 
king,  in  view  of  this  and  of  the  fact  that  the  dead  man 
had  deprecated  any  proceedings  against  his  adversary, 
to  impart  to  him  his  grace  and  mercy  in  the  remission 
of  the  sentence.  Thanks,  no  doubt,  to  the  assistance 
of  Villon's  powerful  friends,  as  well  as  to  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  which  appears  to  have  been  an 
unusually  clear  one  of  justifiable  homicide  in  self- 
defence,  reflecting  no  blame  whatever  on  the  poet, 
letters  of  grace  and  remission  were  in  the  same  month 
accorded  to  him  by  Charles  VII  and  he  presently 
returned  to  Paris,  where  he  perhaps  endeavoured  to 
resume  his  former  life  of  comparative  respectability  ; 
at  all  events,  we  may  be  sure  that  he  so  far  resumed 
his  old  habits  as  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with 
Catherine  de  Vaucelles. 

The  six  months  of  his  banishment,  which  had  in 
all  probability  been  passed  in  the  company  of  the 
thieves  and  vagabonds  who  infested  the  neighbourhood 
of  Paris,  had,  however,  sufficed  hopelessly  to  compro- 
mise his  life.  It  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  he  can, 
in  the  interval,  have  supported  himself  by  any  honest 
means  ;  and  it  is  clearly  to  this  period  that  may  be 
traced  his  definitive  affiliation  to  the  band  or  bands  of 

51 


INTRODUCTION 

robbers  of  which  Guy  Tabarie,  Petit  Jean,  Colin  de 
Cayeulx  and  Régnier  de  Montigny  were  the  most  dis- 
tinguished ornaments  and  of  which  he  himself  was 
destined  to  become  an  important  member.*  It  is  to 
this  time  of  need  that  Villon  himself  assigns  the  raid 
upon  the  barber  of  Bourg-la-Reine,  in  company  with 
Huguette  du  Hamel  ;  and  excursions  of  this  kind  were 
doubtless  amongst  the  least  reprehensible  of  his  ex- 
pedients to  keep  body  and  soul  together.  On  his 
return  to  Paris,  he  appears  to  have  been  badly  received 
by  his  lady-love  and  in  despair  quickly  reverted  to  the 
habits  of  criminality  which  had  now  obtained  a  firm 
hold  on  him.     We  have  it,  on  undoubted    authority, 

[*  The  researches  of  M .  Marcel  Schwob  have  brought  to  light 
the  fact  that  the  language,  hitherto  unidentified,  in  which  the 
"  Jargon  "  or  "  Jobelin  "  of  Villon  is  written,  was  a  thieves'  slang 
or  lingo  peculiar  to  a  notable  association  of  robbers  and  outlaws 
known  as  the  Coquillarts  or  Compagnons  de  la  Coquille,  a  title 
probably  derived  from  the  circumstance  that  the  Company  was 
largely  recruited  from  the  swarms  of  false  palmers  or  professional 
visitants  to  various  shrines  and  especially  to  that  of  St.  James  of 
Compostella  (whose  emblem  was  the  scallop  or  cockleshell  habit- 
ually worn  in  the  hat  as  a  token  of  accomplishment  of  the  pilgrim- 
age to  his  shrine  —  hence  the  term  coquillart  or  cockle-shell 
wearer  vulgarly  applied  to  the  palmer  — )  who  availed  themselves 
of  the  quasi-sacred  character  of  the  pilgrim  to  rob  and  murder  with 
impunity  on  all  the  high  roads  of  mediaeval  France.  Of  this  law- 
less association  Villon's  comrades  Montigny  and  Cayeulx  are 
known  to  have  formed  part  and  the  poet  himself  doubtless  became 
affiliated  to  the  Company  during  his  six  months  of  exile.  The 
generic  name  (Coquillarts)  of  the  Companions  of  the  Cockleshell 
figures  in  the  poems  composing  the  "  Jargon,"  which  were  doubt- 
less written  expressly  for  the  members  of  the  band.  ] 

52 


INTRODUCTION 

that  during  the  eleven  months  which  followed  his 
return  to  Paris  he  was  concerned  in  three  robberies 
committed  or  attempted  by  his  band,  —  namely,  a  bur 
glary  perpetrated  on  the  house  of  a  priest  called 
Guillaume  Coiffier,  by  which  they  netted  five  or  six 
hundred  gold  crowns  ;  an  attempt  (frustrated  by  the 
vigilance  of  a  dog)  to  steal  the  sacred  vessels  from 
the  Church  of  St.  Maturin  ;  and  the  breaking  open  of 
the  treasury  of  the  College  de  Navarre,  whence  they 
stole  another  five  or  six  hundred  gold  crowns,  thanks 
to  the  intimate  knowledge  of  its  interior  acquired  by 
Villon  during  his  scholastic  career  and  to  the  lock- 
picking  talents  of  Colin  de  Cayeulx.  These  were 
doubtless  but  a  few  of  the  operations  undertaken  by 
the  band  of  desperadoes  with  whom  Villon  was  now 
inseparably  associated;  and  as  they  rejoiced  in  such 
accomplices  as  a  goldsmith,  who  made  them  false  keys 
and  melted  down  for  them  their  purchase  or  booty, 
when  it  assumed  the  inconvenient  form  of  holy  or 
other  vessels,  and  in  the  protection  of  the  Cloister  of 
Notre  Dame,  of  which  sanctuary  they  seem  to  have 
made  their  headquarters,  besides  other  refuges,  to 
which  they  could  flee  when  hard  pressed,  in  the  houses 
of  priests  and  clerks,  of  whom  several  seem  to  have 
been  affiliated  to  the  band,  the  poet  and  his  compan- 
ions appear  for  a  while  to  have  pursued  their  hazardous 
profession  to  highly  lucrative  account.  The  success- 
ful attempt  upon  the  College  de  Navarre  took  place 
shortly  before  Christmas  1456  and  almost  immedi- 
ately afterwards  the  poet,  who  seems  to  have  thrown 

53 


INTRODUCTION 

himself  heart  and  soul  into  his  new  vocation  and  to 
have  gained  such  appreciation  among  his  comrades  as 
led  them  to  entrust  him  with  the  more  delicate  and 
imaginative  branches  of  the  craft,  left  Paris  for 
Angers,  where  an  uncle  of  his  was  (as  I  have  already 
said)  a  priest  residing  in  a  convent  ;  according  to 
Villon's  own  account  (see  the  Lesser  Testament)  in 
consequence  of  the  despair  to  which  he  was  driven  by 
Catherine's  unkindness  and  which  led  him  to  exile 
himself  from  Paris,  for  the  purpose  of  endeavouring, 
by  change  of  scene  and  occupation,  to  break  away 
from  the  "  very  amorous  bondage  "  in  which  he  felt 
his  heart  withering  away  ;  but  in  reality  (as  we  learn 
from  irrecusable  evidence)  with  the  view  of  examining 
into  the  possibility  of  a  business  operation  upon  the 
goods  of  a  rich  ecclesiastic  of  the  Angevin  town  and 
of  devising  such  a  plan  as  should,  from  a  careful 
artistic  study  of  the  localities  and  circumstance,  com- 
mend itself  to  his  ingenious  wit,  for  the  purpose  of 
enabling  the  band  to  relieve  the  good  priest  of  the  five 
or  six  hundred  crowns  *  which  they  believed  him  to 
possess.  Whether  this  scheme  was  carried  out  or  not 
we  have  no  information  ;  however  this  may  be,  it  does 
not  appear  that  Villon  returned  to  Paris  for  more  than 
two  years  afterwards  and  his  long  sojourn  in  the 
provinces  is  probably  to  be  accounted  for  on  the  sup 
position  that  he  received   warning  from  some  of  his 

*"  Five  or  six  hundred  gold  crowns  "  was  decidedly  the  sacra- 
mental sum  with  the  Companions,  who  apparently  disdained  to  fly 
at  more  trifling  game 

54 


INTRODUCTION 

comrades  of  the  discovery  of  the  burglary  committed 
at  the  College  de  Navarre  and  feeling  himself  incon- 
veniently well  known  to  the  Parisian  police,  thought 
it  best  to  remain  a  while  in  hiding  where  he  was  less 
notorious. 

The  discovery  and  consequent  (at  least  temporary) 
break-up  of  the  band  was  due  to  the  drunken  folly  of 
Guy  Tabarie,  who  could  not  refrain  from  boasting,  in 
his  cups,  of  the  nefarious  exploits  of  himself  and  his 
comrades,  who  (he  said)  possessed  such  powerful  and 
efficient  instruments  of  effraction  that  no  locks  or  bolts 
could  resist  them.  By  a  curious  hazard,  a  country 
priest,  the  Prior  of  Paray-le-Moniau,  a  connection  of 
Guillaume  Coiffier,  to  whose  despoilment  by  Villon  and 
his  companions  I  have  already  referred,  became  the 
chance  recipient  of  the  drunken  confidences  of  Tabarie, 
whilst  staying  in  Paris  and  breakfasting  at  the  Pulpit 
Tavern  on  the  Petit  Pont,  and  by  feigning  a  desire 
to  take  part  in  his  burglarious  operations,  succeeded 
in  eliciting  from  him  sufficient  details  of  the  affaire 
Coiffier  and  that  of  the  College  de  Navarre  to  enable 
him  to  procure  Tabarie's  arrest  and  committal  to  the 
Châtelet  prison  in  the  summer  of  1458.  Claimed  by  the 
Bishop  of  Paris  in  his  quality  of  clerk,  he  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  prison  of  the  ecclesiastical  jurisdiction 
and  after  suffering  the  question  ordinary  and  extraor- 
dinary, made  a  full  confession,  denouncing  the  various 
members  of  the  band  and  naming  Villon  and  Colin 
de  Cayeulx  as  the  acting  chiefs.  This  happened  more 
than  two  and  a  half  years  after  the  poet's  departure 

55 


INTRODUCTION 

from  Paris,  nor  is  it  known  when  he  was  arrested 
in  consequence  of  the  revelations  of  Guy  Tabarie  ; 
but  it  is  probable,  looking  at  the  comparatively  full 
manner  in  which  his  time  may  be  accounted  for 
between  that  date  and  1461,  that  his  arrest  took  place 
shortly  afterwards.  It  is  certain,  on  his  own  showing, 
that  he  was  again  tried  and  condemned  to  death,  after 
having  undergone  the  question  by  water,  and  that  he 
made  an  appeal  (the  text  of  which  has  not  reached  us) 
to  the  High  Court  of  Parliament,  which,  being  proba- 
bly supported  by  some  of  his  influential  friends, 
resulted  in  the  commutation  of  the  capital  penalty  into 
that  of  perpetual  exile  from  the  kingdom.  It  was 
apparently  in  the  interval  between  the  pronunciation 
of  his  condemnation  to  death  and  the  allowance  of 
the  appeal  that  he  composed  the  magnificent  ballad, 
in  which  he  imagines  himself  and  his  companions  in 
infamy  hanging  dead  upon  the  gibbet  of  Montfaucon, 
with  faces  dinted  with  bird-pecks,  alternately  dried  up 
and  blackened  by  the  sun  and  blanched  and  soddened 
by  the  rain,  and  in  whose  lines  one  seems  to  hear  the 
grisly  rattle  of  the  wind  through  the  dry  bones  of  the 
wretched  criminals  "  done  to  death  by  justice,"  as  they 
swing  to  and  fro,  making  weird  music  in  "  the  ghosts' 
moonshine."  This  poem  establishes  the  fact  that  five 
of  his  band  were  condemned  with  him  and  it  is  prob- 
able that  these  unhappy  wretches,  less  fortunate  than 
himself  in  possessing  influential  friends,  actually  real- 
ised the  ghastly  picture  conjured  up  by  the  poet's 
fantastic  imagination. 

56 


INTRODUCTION 

On  receiving  notification  of  the  judgment  commut- 
ing his  sentence,  he  addressed  to  the  Parliament  the 
curious  ballad  (called  in  error  his  Appeal),*  requesting 
a  delay  of  three  days  for  the  purpose  of  providing  him- 
self and  bidding  his  friends  adieu,  before  setting  out 
for  the  place  of  his  exile,  and  presently  left  Paris  on 
his  wanderings.  Of  his  itinerary  we  possess  no  indica- 
tions save  those  to  be  laboriously  culled  from  his 
poems  ;  but,  by  a  process  of  inference,  we  may  fairly 
assume  that  he  took  his  way  to  Orleans  and  followed 
the  course  of  the  Loire  nearly  to  its  sources,  whence  he 
struck  off  for  the  town  of  Roussillon  in  Dauphiné,  a 
possession  of  the  Duke  of  Bourbon,  who  had  lately 
made  gift  of  it  to  his  bastard  brother,  Louis  de  Bour- 
bon, Mareschal  and  Seneschal  of  the  Bourbonnais, 
supposed  to  be  the  Seneschal  to  whom  Villon  alludes 
as  having  once  paid  his  debts.  Under  the  wing  of 
this  friend,  he  probably  established  his  headquarters, 
during  the  term  of  his  exile,  at  Roussillon,  making 
excursions  now  and  then  to  other  places  —  notably  to 
Salins  in  Burgundy,  where  it  seems  he  had  managed 
to  establish  the  three  poor  orphans  of  whom  he  speaks 
in  the  Lesser  Testament.     In  the  Greater  Testament 

[*  M.  Longnon  is  manifestly  in  error  in  attributing  the  composition 
of  this  Ballad  and  that  last  before  mentioned  to  the  interval  between 
Villon's  condemnation  for  the  homicide  of  Chermoye  and  his  par- 
don, as  is  sufficiently  evident  from  the  fact  that  he  describes  himself 
in  the  latter  as  one  of  six  done  to  death  by  justice.  M.  Longnon's 
statement  of  the  judicial  consequences  of  the  prosecution  in  ques- 
tion is  also  at  variance  with  the  terms  of  the  letters  of  remission, 
as  set  out  in  his  appendix.] 

57 


INTRODUCTION 

he  represents  himself  as  having  visited  them,  referring 
to  them  in  such  terms  as  to  leave  no  doubt  that  they 
were  still  children,  and  moreover  makes  a  bequest  for 
the  purpose  of  completing  their  education  and  buying 
them  cates.  To  this  period  of  exile  (or  perhaps, 
rather,  to  the  time  of  his  preceding  visit  to  Angers) 
must  also  be  assigned  his  stay  at  St.  Generoux  in  the 
marches  of  Poitou,  where  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  two  pretty  Poitevin  ladies  —  "filles  belles  et 
gentes,"  as  he  calls  them  —  who  taught  him  to  speak 
the  Poitou  dialect;  and  his  visit  to  Blois,  where 
Charles  d'Orléans  was  then  residing  and  where  Villon 
took  part  in  a  sort  of  poetical  contest  established  by 
the  poet-prince,  from  which  resulted  the  curious  bal- 
lad, "  Je  meurs  de  soif  auprès  de  la  fontaine,"  com- 
posed (as  were  poems  of  a  like  character  by  a  number 
of  other  poets*)  upon  the  theme  indicated  by  the 
refrain  and  offering  a  notable  example  of  the  inferi- 
ority to  which  a  great  and  original  poet  could  descend, 
when  forced  painfully  to  elaborate  the  unsympathetic 
ideas  of  others  and  to  bend  his  free  and  natural  style 
to  the  artificial  conceits  and  rhetorical  niceties  of  the 
other  rhymers  of  the  day.  A  well-known  anecdote  of 
Rabelais  attributes  to  the  poet,  at  this  period  of  his 
life,  a  voyage  to  England,  where  he  is  said  to  have 
ingratiated  himself  with  the  then  regnant  king  and  to 
have  made  him  a  celebrated  speech  distinguished 
equally  by  wit   and   patriotism  ;   but   the  story  carries 

*Cf.     Les   Poésies  de  Charles  d'Orléans.     Ed.  Guichard,  1842, 
pp.  128-138. 

58 


INTRODUCTION 

in  itself  its  own  refutation  and  M.  Longnon  has  shown 
that  it  is  a  mere  modernisation  of  a  precisely  similar 
trait  attributed  to  another  French  scholar  of  earlier 
date,  Hugues  le  Noir,  who  is  said  to  have  taken  refuge 
at  the  court  of  King  John  of  England  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  It  may  be  remarked,  by  the  by,  as  a  curious 
instance  of  the  vitality  of  these  old  popular  jests,  that 
the  trait  above  alluded  to  has,  in  our  own  times,  be- 
come the  foundation  of  one  of  the  wittiest  of  modern 
Yankee  stories.  There  is  nothing  whatever  either  in 
the  works  of  Villon  or  in  any  contemporary  documents, 
in  which  his  name  is  mentioned,  to  show  that  he  at 
any  time  visited  England.  Had  he  done  so,  the  effect 
of  so  radical  a  change  in  his  habits  and  surroundings 
would  certainly  have  left  no  inconsiderable  trace  in 
the  verse  of  so  shrewd  and  keen  an  observer  of  men 
and  manners  :  and  it  is  probable  that  the  whole  story 
arose  from  the  fact  of  his  banishment  from  the  king 
dom  of  France,  the  concoctor  forgetting  at  that  later 
period  that  the  France  of  Villon's  time  was  a  com- 
paratively small  country,  from  which  banishment  was 
possible  into  many  independent  or  tributary  states, 
which  afterwards  became  an  integral  portion  of  the 
French  realm. 

During  the  term  of  his  banishment,  Villon  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  under  any  kind  of  police  super 
vision.  At  that  time  there  existed  no  court  exercising 
supreme  authority  over  the  whole  kingdom  ;  each 
province,  nay,  each  ecclesiastical  diocese  possessed  its 
own  independent  civil  and  criminal  jurisdiction,  having 

59 


INTRODUCTION 

little  or  no  connection  with  the  better  organised  tribu- 
nals of  Paris,  which  city  had  not  yet  begun  to  be  that 
nucleus  of  centralisation  it  afterwards  became.  So 
that  he  appears  to  have  been  comparatively  free  to 
move  about  at  will  :  and  from  a  passage  in  his  Greater 
Testament,  in  which  he  speaks  of  himself  as  "  pauvre 
mercerot  de  Rennes"  —  poor  hawker  or  pedlar  of 
Rennes  —  it  seems  possible  that  he  eked  out  the 
scanty  doles  to  be  obtained  from  the  kindness  of 
friends  (such  as  the  Duke  de  Bourbon,  who  lent  him 
six  crowns  and  to  whom  we  find  him  again  applying 
for  a  loan,  and  Jean  le  Cornu,  a  Parisian  ecclesiastic, 
of  whom  says  Villon,  "  he  has  always  furnished  me  in 
my  great  need  and  distress  ")  by  travelling  as  a  pedlar 
from  town  to  town, —  and  this  would  explain  his  wan- 
derings   hither   and    thither.*     However,   if   he    ever 

[*  Since  the  above  was  written,  M.  Vitu  has  shown  in  his  learned 
introduction  to  his  great  work  on  the  "Jargon"  that  the  mer- 
cerots  or  mercelots  formed  the  lowest  grade  of  the  great  trade- 
guild  of  the  Merciers  and  were  mostly  rogues  and  vagabonds  of 
the  lowest  order,  whose  misdeeds,  committed  under  the  convenient 
cover  of  the  pedlar's  pack,  were  winked  at  and  to  whom  protection 
was  extended  by  the  powerful  parent  society  in  consideration  of 
the  large  addition  to  its  revenues  derived  from  the  redevances  or 
annual  dues  paid  by  them.  The  name  of  mercelot  or  pedlar 
appears  to  have  been,  indeed,  practically  synonymous  with  "  sturdy 
rogue  and  vagabond  ;  "  many  of  the  class  were  secretly  affiliated 
to  such  criminal  associations  as  the  Gueux  and  the  Coquillarts  and 
it  seems  probable,  therefore,  that  Villon's  adoption  of  a  nominally 
honest  calling  was  only  a  mask  for  a  continuation  of  the  career  of 
lawlessness  to  which  he  must  long  have  been  irretrievably  com- 
mitted. Rennes  was  doubtless  the  headquarters  of  the  provincial 
branch  of  the  Mercers'  Guild  to  which  he  was  directly  affiliated] 

60 


INTRODUCTION 

really  essayed  this  honest  and  laborious  existence,  he 
quickly  tired  of  it  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  before 
long  he  came  again  in  contact  with  some  of  his  old 
comrades  in  crime  —  members  of  the  dispersed  band, 
either  exiled  like  himself  or  hiding  from  justice  in  the 
provinces  —  and  was  easily  led  to  resume  in  their 
company  that  career  of  dishonesty  and  turbulence 
which  had  so  fatal  an  attraction  for  him.  Among 
these  was  notably  Colin  de  Cayeulx,  in  whose  com- 
pany he  no  doubt  assisted  at  some  of  those  "  esbats  " 
for  which,  in  the  year  1461,  his  old  master  in  roguery 
was  (as  he  tells  us  in  the  Second  Ballad  of  the  Jargon) 
at  last  subjected  to  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law, 
being  broken  on  the  wheel,  probably  at  Montpippeau 
near  Orleans,  where  the  crimes  for  which  he  suffered 
and  of  which  rape  seems  to  have  been  the  most  venial 
were  committed.  At  this  last-named  place,  Villon 
again  appears  in  the  centre  of  France,  trusting  appar- 
ently to  lapse  of  time  for  the  avoidance  of  his 
banishment  ;  and  here  it  was  not  long  before  he  again 
came  in  collision  with  the  authorities.  In  the  early 
part  of  the  year  1461  we  find  him,  in  company  with 
others  of  unknown  condition,  committing  a  crime 
(said  to  have  been  the  theft  of  a  silver  lamp  from  the 
parish  church  of  Baccon  near  Orleans)  for  which  he 
was  arrested  by  the  police  of  the  ecclesiastical  juris- 
diction and  brought  before  the  tribunal  of  the  Bishop 
of  Orleans,  that  Jacques  Thibault  d'Aussigny  against 
whom  he  so  bitterly  inveighs  in  the  Greater  Testa- 
ment.    We  have  no  record  of  his  conviction,  but  it 

61 


INTRODUCTION 

cannot  be  doubted  that  he  was  again  condemned  to 
death,  although  (with  his  usual  luck)  a  more  powerful 
protector  than  had  ever  before  intervened  in  his 
favour  appeared  in  time  to  prevent  the  execution  of 
the  sentence.  It  appears  from  his  own  statements 
that  he  was,  during  the  whole  summer  of  1461,  con- 
fined in  what  he  calls  a  "  fosse  "  in  the  castle  of 
Meung-sur-I^oire —  a  name  reserved  for  the  horrible 
dens  without  light  or  air,  dripping  with  water  and 
swarming  with  rats,  toads  and  snakes,  adjoining  the 
castle  moat.  Here  he  was  (if  we  may  credit  his  own 
statements)  more  than  once  subjected  to  the  question 
or  torture  by  water  and  (what  seems  to  have  been  a 
more  terrible  hardship  than  all  the  rest  to  a  man  of 
Villon's  passionate  devotion  to  rich  and  delicate  eat- 
ing and  drinking)  he  was  "  passing  scurvily  fed  "  on 
dry  bread  and  water.  At  Meung  it  can  hardly  be 
doubted,  he  composed  the  curious  ballad  in  which  he 
presents  his  heart  and  body,  or  soul  and  sense,  arguing 
one  against  the  other,  and  sets  before  us,  in  a  pithy 
and  well-sustained  dialogue,  the  sentiments  of  remorse 
and  despair  — not  unrelieved  by  the  inevitable  stroke 
of  covert  satire — which  seem  to  have  formed  the 
normal  state  of  his  mind  during  any  interval  of  en- 
forced retirement  from  the  light  of  the  sun  and  the 
pursuit  of  his  nefarious  profession.  To  this  period 
also  belongs  the  beautiful  and  pathetic  ballad,  in  which 
he  calls  upon  all  to  whom  Fortune  has  made  gift  of 
freedom  from  other  service  than  that  of  God  in  Para- 
dise, all  for  whom  life  is  light  with  glad  laughter  and 

62 


INTRODUCTION 

pleasant  song,  to  have  compassion  on  him  as  he  lies 
on  the  cold  earth,  fasting  feast  and  fast-days  alike,  in 
the  dreary  dungeon,  whither  neither  light  of  levin  nor 
noise  of  whirlwind  can  penetrate  for  the  thickness  of 
the  walls  that  enfold  him  like  the  cerecloths  of  a 
corpse.  From  an  expression  in  this  ballad,  it  would 
seem  that  there  were  no  steps  to  Villon's  cell,  but  that 
he  was  let  down  into  it  by  ropes,  as  was  the  prophet 
Jeremiah  in  the  dungeon  of  Malchiah  the  son  of 
Hammelech,  in  the  reign  of  Zedekiah  king  of  Judah. 
Here,  too,  he  seems  to  have  been  chained  up  in  fetters 
("  enferré  ")  and  (if  we  may  believe  him  when  he 
accuses  the  bishop  of  having  made  him  chew  many  a 
"  poire  d'angoisse  ")  gagged  to  prevent  his  crying  out. 
To  all  this  were  added  the  tortures  of  hunger,  for  even 
the  wretched  food  supplied  to  him  seems  to  have  been 
so  small  in  quantity  ("  une  petite  miche,"  says  he)  as 
barely  to  stave  off  starvation,  —  a  wretched  state  of 
things  for  a  man  who  had  always,  on  his  own  confes- 
sion, too  well  nourished  his  body  ;  and  it  is  very 
possible  that,  had  his  imprisonment  been  of  long 
duration,  hardship  and  privation  might  have  ended 
his  life.  However,  this  was  not  destined  to  be  the 
case.  In  July  1461  the  old  King  Charles  VII  died 
and  was  succeeded  by  the  Dauphin,  Louis  XI  ;  and 
on  the  2nd  October  following,  the  latter  remitted 
Villon's  penalty  and  ordered  his  release  by  letters  of 
grace  dated  at  Meung-sur-Loire,  where  he  had  proba- 
bly learnt  the  fate  of  the  poet,  whilst  passing  in  the 
course  of   the    royal    progress   customary    on    a    new 


INTRODUCTION 

king's  accession.  It  seems  probable  that  he  remem- 
bered Villon's  name  as  that  of  an  old  acquaintance,  if 
not  as  that  of  a  brilliant  and  ingenious  poet  ;  and  the 
saying  is  indeed  traditionally  attributed  to  Louis  XI, 
whose  taste  in  literature  was  of  the  acutest,  that  he 
could  not  afford  to  hang  Villon,  as  the  kingdom  could 
boast  of  100,000  rascals  of  equal  eminence,  but  not  of 
one  other  poet  so  accomplished  in  "  gentilz  dictz  et 
ingénieux  sçavoir."  At  all  events,  it  is  certain  that 
Charles  d'Orléans,  to  whom  most  commentators  have 
ascribed  the  merit  of  procuring  Villon's  release  by 
intercession  with  the  king,  could  not  have  successfully 
intervened,  as  he  was  at  that  time  in  disgrace  with  the 
new  monarch,  between  whom  and  himself  a  bitter 
personal  hostility  had  long  existed  :  and  "  Le  Dit  de 
la  naissance  Marie  d'Orléans"  —  by  which  poem, 
addressed  to  the  father  of  the  new-born  princess, 
Villon  is  conjectured  to  have  secured  his  good  offices 
—  is  most  assuredly  the  production  neither  of  Villon 
nor  of  any  one  else  in  any  way  worthy  of  the  name 
of  poet. 


64 


IV 


Immediately  upon  his  release,  Villon  seems  to  have 
returned  to  Paris  and  there  appears  to  be  some  little 
warrant  for  the  supposition  that  he  endeavoured  to 
earn  his  living  as  an  avoué  or  in  some  similar  capacity 
about  the  ecclesiastical  courts.  However  this  may  be, 
he  was  probably  speedily  obliged  to  renounce  all 
efforts  of  this  kind  on  account  of  the  failing  state  of 
his  health  and  the  exhaustion  consequent  upon  the 
privations  he  had  undergone  and  the  irregularity  of 
his  debauched  and  licentious  life.  It  would  appear, 
too,  from  an  allusion  in  his  later  verse,  that  his  goods, 
little  as  they  were  ("  even  to  the  bed  under  me,"  says 
he),  had  been  seized  by  three  creditors,  named  Moreau, 
Provins  and  Turgis,  in  satisfaction  apparently  of  debts 
due  by  him  to  them,  or  to  reimburse  themselves  for 
thefts  practised  at  their  expense,  at  the  time  of  "  Les 
Repues  Franches,"  two  of  which,  carried  out  at  Tur- 
gis's  cost,  I  have  already  noticed  :  and  as  the  scanty 
proceeds  of  the  execution  are  not  likely  to  have  satis- 
fied any  considerable  portion  of  his  liabilities,  it  would 
seem  that  his  creditors  took  further  proceedings 
against  him,  from  the  consequences  of  which  he  was 
compelled  to  seek  safety  in  some  place  of  concealment, 
whither  he  defies  Turgis  to  follow  him.  That  he  did  not 
take  refuge  with  Guillaume  de  Villon  is  obvious  (as  is 
also  the  honourable  motive  that  prompted  him  to  hold 
aloof  from  his  old  friend  and  patron)  from  Octave  77 

65 


INTRODUCTION 

of  the  Greater  Testament,  in  which  he  begs  his  "  more 
than  father,"  who  was  (says  he)  saddened  enough  by 
this  last  scrape  of  his  protege,  to  leave  him  to  disen- 
tangle himself  as  best  he  could.  It  is  possible  that 
he  may  have  retired  to  one  of  the  hiding-places  before 
mentioned,  whither  he  and  his  comrades  were  wont  to 
resort  when  hard  pressed  by  the  police;  but  {pace  M. 
Longnon)  it  seems  to  me  that  the  probabilities  are  in 
favour  of  his  having  sheltered  himself  with  the  woman 
whom  he  calls  "  La  Grosse  Margot"  and  who,  he  implies, 
had  alone  retained  a  real  and  faithful  attachment  to 
him.  That  attachments  of  such  a  nature  have  never 
been  rare  among  women  of  her  class  ("  poor  liberal 
girls!"  as  Villon  calls  them),  in  whom  the  very  nature 
of  their  terrible  trade  seems  to  engender  an  ardent 
longing  for  real  and  unselfish  affection  which  has 
often  led  them  to  the  utmost  extremities  of  devotion 
and  self-sacrifice,  none  can  doubt  who  knows  any- 
thing of  their  history  and  habits  as  a  class  ;  and  one 
need  go  no  further  than  Dufour's  curious  History  of 
Prostitution  or  Dumas'  sympathetic  study,  "  Filles, 
Lorettes  et  Courtisanes,"  for  touching  instances  of  the 
pathetic  abnegation  of  which  these  unhappy  creatures 
are  capable.  M.  Longnon  has  endeavoured,  with  a 
motive  in  which  all  admirers  of  the  poet  must  sym- 
pathise with  him,  to  contend  that  Villon's  connection 
with  La  Grosse  Margot  had  no  real  existence  and  that 
his  most  explicit  references  to  it  should  be  taken  as 
nothing  but  a  playful  and  figurative  description  of 
his   resumed    devotion   to   some   tavern,   for  which   a 

66 


INTRODUCTION 

portrait  of  the  woman  in  question  served  as  sign.  With 
all  respect  for  M.  Longnon's  most  honorable  intention 
and  all  possible  willingness  to  accept  any  reasonable 
conjecture  that  might  tend  to  remove  from  the  poet's 
name  a  stigma  of  which  his  lovers  must  be  painfully 
sensible,  I  am  yet  utterly  at  a  loss  to  discover  any 
warrant  for  the  above-mentioned  theory.  It  is  of 
course  possible  that  the  ballad  in  which  Villon  so 
circumstantially  exposes  the  connection  in  question 
may  have  been  intended  as  a  mere  piece  of  bravado 
or  mystification  ;  but,  failing  evidence  of  this,  I  defy 
any  candid  reader  to  place  such  a  construction  upon 
the  text  as  will  justify  any  other  conclusion  than  the 
very  unsavoury  one  usually  adopted. 

Rejected  by  the  only  woman  of  his  own  rank  whom 
he  seems  to  have  loved  with  a  real  and  tender  passion 
and  even  cast  off  by  his  sometime  mistress,  Jehanne- 
ton  la  Chaperonnière,  one  can  hardly  blame  Villon  for 
not  refusing  the  shelter  of  the  one  attachment,  low 
and  debased  as  it  was,  which  remained  to  him. 

In  this  retirement,  whatever  it  was,  deserted  by  all 
his  friends  and  accompanied  only  by  his  boy-clerk 
Frémin,*  Villon  appears  to  have  at  once  addressed 
himself  to  the  composition  of  the  capital  work  of  his 
life,  the  Greater  Testament.  He  had  now  attained 
the  age  of  thirty,  and  young  as  he  still  was,  he  felt 
that  he  had  not  much  longer  to  live.  The  terrible 
life  of  debauchery,  privation  and  hardship  he  had  led 

*  Possibly  (and  even  probably)  an  imaginary  character. 
67 


INTRODUCTION 

had  at  last  begun  to  produce  its  natural  effect.  To 
the  maladies  contracted  in  his  youth  and  to  the  natu- 
ral exhaustion  caused  by  an  incessant  alternation  of 
the  wildest  debauch  and  the  most  cruel  privation, 
appears  now  to  have  been  added  some  disease  of  the 
lungs,  probably  consumption,  which  caused  him  to 
burn  with  insatiable  thirst  and  to  vomit  masses  of 
snow-white  phlegm  as  big  as  tennis-balls  (the  student 
of  our  own  old  poets  will  recall  the  expression  "  to  spit 
white,"  so  commonly  applied  to  those  attacked  with  a 
fatal  affection  of  the  lungs,  consequent  upon  excess), 
a  disorder  probably  contracted  in  the  reeking  dungeon 
of  the  castle  of  Meung  and  aggravated  by  the  terrible 
effects  of  the  question  by  water,  which  he  had  so  often 
undergone  and  from  which  the  patient  rarely  entirely 
recovered.  Indeed,  he  expressly  attributes  these  latter 
symptoms  to  his  having  been  forced  by  the  Bishop  of 
Orleans  to  drink  so  much  cold  water.  He  tells  us,  at 
the  commencement  of  his  Greater  Testament,  that  his 
youth  had  left  him,  how  he  knew  not,  and  that,  though 
yet  in  reality  a  cockerel,  he  had  the  voice  and  appear- 
ance of  an  old  rook.  Sad,  dejected  and  despairing, 
with  face  blacker,  as  he  says,  than  a  mulberry  for 
stress  of  weather  and  privation,  without  hair,  beard  or 
eye-brows,  bare  as  a  turnip  from  disease,  with  body 
emaciated  with  hunger  ("  The  worms  will  have  no 
great  purchase  thereof,"  says  he  ;  "  hunger  has  waged 
too  stern  a  war  on  it  ;  ")  and  every  limb  one  anguish 
for  disease,  with  empty  purse  and  stomach,  dependent 
on  charity  for  subsistence,  so  sick  at  heart  and  feeble 

68 


INTRODUCTION 

that  he  could  hardly  speak,  his  eyes  seem  at  last  to 
have  been  definitively  opened  to  the  terrible  folly  of 
his  past  life.  He  renounces  at  last  those  delusive 
pleasures  for  which  he  retains  neither  hope  nor 
capacity  :  "  No  more  desire  in  me  is  hot,"  he  cries  ; 
"  I've  put  my  lute  beneath  the  seat  :  "  travail  and 
misery  have  sharpened  his  wit  :  he  confesses  and 
repents  of  his  sins,  forgives  his  enemies  and  turns  for 
comfort  to  religion  and  maternal  love,  consoling  him- 
self with  the  reflection  that  all  must  die,  great  and 
small,  and  that  after  such  a  life  as  he  has  led,  an 
honest  death  had  nothing  that  should  displease  him, 
seeing  that  in  life,  as  in  love,  "each  pleasure's  bought 
with  fifty  pains."  After  a  long  and  magnificent  pre- 
lude, in  which  he  laments  the  excesses  of  his  youth, 
justifying  himself  by  his  favourite  argument  that 
necessity  compels  folk  to  do  evil,  as  want  drives 
wolves  out  of  the  brake,  and  sues  for  the  favourable 
and  compassionate  consideration  of  those  whose  lot 
in  life  has  placed  them  above  necessity, —  interrupted 
by  numerous  episodes,  some  humorous,  some  pathetic, 
the  individual  beauty  of  which  is  so  great  that  (like 
the  so-called  diffuse  digressions  which  abound  in  the 
music  of  Schubert)  one  cannot  quarrel  with  their  want 
of  proportion  to  the  general  theme,  —  he  commends 
his  soul  to  the  various  persons  of  the  Trinity  in  lan- 
guage of  the  most  exalted  piety  and  proceeds,  in  view 
of  his  approaching  death,  to  dictate  to  his  clerk  what 
he  calls  his  Testament,  being  a  long  series  of  huitains 
or  eight-line  octosyllabic  stanzas,  in  each  of  which  he 

69 


INTRODUCTION 

makes  some  mention,  humorous,  pathetic  or  satirical, 
of  some  one  or  more  of  the  numerous  personages  who 
had  trodden  with  him  the  short  but  varicoloured  scene 
of  his  life.  Many  are  the  men,  women,  places  and 
things  he  sets  before  us  in  a  few  keen  and  incisive 
words,  from  which  often  spring  the  swiftest  lightnings 
of  humour  and  the  most  poignant  flashes  of  pathos, 
blending  together  in  extricable  harmony,  with  a  care- 
less skill  worthy  of  Heine  or  Laforgue,  the  maddest 
laughter  and  the  most  bitter  tears.  Lamartine  or  De 
Musset  contains  no  tenderer  or  more  plaintive  notes 
than  those  which  break,  like  a  primrose,  from  the 
Spring-ferment  of  his  verse,  nor  is  there  to  be  found 
in  Vaughan  or  Christina  Rossetti  a  holier  or  sweeter 
strain  than  the  ballad  which  bears  his  mother's  name. 
Among  the  lighter  pieces,  by  which  his  more  serious 
efforts  are  relieved,  I  may  mention  the  delightfully 
humorous  orison  for  the  soul  of  his  notary,  Master 
Jehan  Cotard  ;  the  brightly-coloured  ballad  called 
"  Les  Contredictz  de  Franc-Gontier,"  in  which,  with 
comic  emphasis,  he  denounces  the  so-called  pleasures 
of  a  country  life;  and  the  tripping  lilt  that  he  devotes 
to  the  praise  of  the  women  of  Paris.  In  the  Ballad  of 
La  Grosse  Margot,  he  gives  us  a  terrible  picture 
of  the  degrading  expedients  to  which  he  was  forced 
by  the  frightful  necessities  of  his  misguided  existence 
and  dedicates  to  François  Perdryer  above  named 
"  The  Ballad  of  Slanderous  Tongues,"  perhaps  the 
most  uncompromising  example  of  pure  invective  that 
exists  in  any  known  literature.     Towards  the  end  of 

70 


INTRODUCTION 

his  poem,  in  verses  pregnant  with  serious  and  well- 
illustrated  meaning,  he  addresses  himself  to  the 
companions  of  his  crimes  and  follies  —  "  ill  souls  and 
bodies  well  bestead,"  as  he  calls  them  —  and  bids 
them  beware  of  "  that  ill  sun  which  tans  a  man  when 
he  is  dead,"  warning  them  that  all  their  crimes  and 
extravagances  have  brought  them  nothing  but  misery 
and  privation,  with  the  prospect  of  a  shameful  death 
at  last,  that  ill-gotten  goods  are  nobody's  gain,  but 
drift  away  to  wanton  uses,  like  chaff  before  the  wind, 
and  exhorting  them  to  mend  their  lives  and  turn  to 
honest  labour.  When  he  has  to  his  satisfaction 
exhausted  his  budget  of  memories,  tears  and  laughter, 
he  strikes  once  more  the  fatalist  keynote  of  the  whole 
work  in  a  noble  "  meditation  "  on  the  equality  of  all 
earthly  things  before  the  inexorable  might  of  Death 
and  adds  a  Roundel,  in  which  he  deprecates  the 
further  rigour  of  Fate  and  expresses  a  hope  that  his 
repentance  may  find  acceptance  at  the  hands  of  God. 
Finally,  he  names  his  executors,  gives  directions  for 
his  burial,  orders  an  epitaph  to  be  scratched  over  him, 
to  preserve  his  memory  as  that  of  a  good  honest  wag 
("  un  bon  folâtre  "),  and  concludes  by  determining,  in 
view  of  his  approaching  death,  to  beg  forgiveness  of 
all  men,  which  he  does  in  a  magnificent  ballad,  bearing 
the  refrain,  "  I  cry  folk  mercy,  one  and  all  "  (from 
which,  however,  he  still  excepts  the  Bishop  of 
Orleans),  winding  up  with  a  second  ballad,  in  which 
he  solemnly  repeats  his  assertion  that  he  dies  a  martyr 
to  Love  and  mvites  all  lovers  to  his  funeral. 

71 


INTRODUCTION 

No  work  of  Villon's,  posterior  to  the  Greater  Tes- 
tament, is  known  to  us,  nor  is  there  any  trace  of  its 
existence;  indeed,  from  the  date,  1461,  with  which  he 
himself  heads  his  principal  work,  we  entirely  lose  sight 
of  him  :  and  it  may  be  supposed,  in  view  of  the  con- 
dition of  mental  and  bodily  weakness  in  which  we 
find  him  at  that  time,  that  he  did  not  long  survive  its 
completion.  Indeed  (as  M.  Longnon  justly  observes), 
in  the  case  of  so  eminent  a  poet,  there  could  be  no 
stronger  proof  of  his  death  than  his  cessation  to  pro- 
duce verses.  The  Codicil  (so  named  by  some  compiler 
or  editor  after  the  poet's  death)  is  a  collection  of  poems 
which  contain  internal  evidence  of  having  been 
composed  at  an  earlier  period  ;  and  the  other  pieces 
—  Les  Repues  Franches,  the  Dialogue  of  Mallepaye 
and  Baillevent  and  the  Monologue  of  the  Franc 
Archier  de  Baignolet — which  are  generally  joined  to 
the  Testaments  and  Codicil,  bear  no  trace  whatever  of 
Villon's  handiwork.  They  were  not  even  added  to 
his  works  until  1532  and  were  in  the  following  year 
summarily  rejected  as  spurious  by  Clément  Marot 
from  his  definite  edition,  prepared  by  order  of  Francis 
I.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  entirely  agree  with  M. 
Longnon  in  supposing  that  Villon  died  immediately 
after  1461.  This  would  be  to  assume  that  the  whole 
of  the  Greater  Testament  was  written  at  one  time  : 
and  for  this  assumption  there  seems  to  me  to  be  no 
warrant.  On  the  contrary,  even  as  the  interpolated 
ballads  and  rondeaux  bear  for  the  most  part  signs  of 
an   earlier  origin,   there  seems  to  me  to  exist  in  the 

72 


INTRODUCTION 

body  of  the  Greater  Testament  internal  evidence  that 
the  principal  portion  of  the  poem  (/.  e.,  that  written  in 
huitains)  was  composed  at  four  or  five,  perhaps  more, 
different  returns  ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  probable  that 
Villon  survived  for  two  or  three  years  after  his  release 
from  Meung  gaol.*  Rabelais,  indeed,  states  in  his 
"  Pantagruel  "  that  the  poet,  in  his  old  age,  retired  to 
St.  Maixent  in  Poitou,  where,  under  the  patronage  of 
an  honest  abbot  of  that  ilk,  he  amused  himself  and 
entertained  the  people  with  a  representation  of  the 
Passion  "  en  gestes  et  en  langage  Poitevins  ;  "  but 
this  tradition  (if  tradition  it  be)  which  Rabelais  puts 
into  the  mouth  of  the  Seigneur  de  Basché,  is  as  com- 
pletely improbable,  destitute  of  confirmation  and 
unworthy  of  serious  attention  as  that  of  Villon's 
journey  to  England  and  seems  to  me  to  prove  nothing, 
save,  perhaps,  that  Villon  at  that  time  (1550),  when 
his  works  had  already  begun  to  fall  into  disuse,  had 
become  a  mere  traditional  lay-figure,  on  which  to  hang 
vague  stories  of  "  villonneries,"  adaptable  to  all  kinds 
of    heroes    and    mostly    suggested    by    the     Repues 

[*The  opinion  expressed  in  the  above  lines  (which  were  written 
in  1878)  has  recently  been  completely  confirmed  by  the  terms  of 
a  judicial  document  discovered  in  the  Archives  Nationales  and 
first  published  by  M.  Longnon  (1892),  to  wit,  the  Letters  of  Remis- 
sion granted  by  Louis  XI  in  November  1463  to  Robin  Dogis  for 
the  wounding  of  one  François  Ferrebouc,  in  an  affray  which  took 
place  near  the  church  of  St.  Benoît  and  at  which  Villon  is  men- 
tioned as  having  been  present,  though  not  implicated  therein,  thus 
proving  that  the  poet  was  still  alive  in  1463,  two  years  after  the 
date  of  the  Greater  Testament.] 

73 


INTRODUCTION 

Franches.  There  occurs  also,  in  a  Gazetteer  pub- 
lished in  1726,  an  assertion  that  Villon  was  burnt  for 
impiety  ;  but,  although  to  a  reader  of  his  works  this 
would  seem  by  no  means  unlikely  — not  by  reason  of 
any  real  impiety  on  the  part  of  Villon  (for  it  is  evident 
that,  as  is  so  often  the  case  with  men  of  loose  and 
even  criminal  life,  his  faith  in  religion  was  sincere 
and  deep-seated),  but  because  of  the  continual  jests  and 
sarcasms  he  permits  himself  at  the  expense  of  the 
monks  and  secular  clergy,  always  far  more  ready  to 
pardon  actual  heresy  or  infidelity  than  such  personal 
attacks,  having  no  relation  to  religion,  as  tend  to  dis- 
credit themselves  among  the  people  —  yet,  looking  at 
the  utter  want  of  confirmation  and  of  any  previous 
mention  of  the  alleged  fact  and  considering  the 
grotesque  ignorance  of  the  eighteenth  century  with 
regard  to  the  old  writers  and  especially  the  old  poets 
of  France,  we  are  fully  justified  in  treating  the  assertion 
as  an  absurd  invention. 

No  edition  of  Villon's  works  is  extant  which  is 
known  to  have  been  published  in  his  lifetime  and  to 
which  we  might  therefore  have  turned  for  information. 
The  first  edition,  though  undated,  was  evidently  pub- 
lished without  his  concurrence  and  almost  certainly 
after  his  death  ;  and  the  second,  published  in  1489, 
affords  no  clue  to  the  date  of  that  event,  though 
printed  after  the  year  mentioned  as  an  extreme  limit 
by  those  of  his  commentators  who  have  ascribed  to  him 
the  longest  life.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the 
will  of  Guillaume  de  Villon  is  not  extant,  as  it  would 

74 


INTRODUCTION 

almost  certainly  have  contained  some  reference  to  the 
good  canon's  unhappy  protege,  whether  dead  or  alive, 
—  in  the  latter  case,  for  the  purpose  of  making  some 
provision  for  him,  and  in  the  former,  with  some  men- 
tion of  his  death  and  some  pious  wish  for  the  repose 
of  his  soul.  It  probably  perished,  with  many  other 
valuable  records  and  archives, — from  which  we  might 
have  fairly  expected  to  glean  important  supplementary 
information  relative  to  Villon,  —  in  the  Saturnalia  of 
criminal  and  purposeless  destruction  which  disgraced 
the  French  Revolution. 


75 


There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Villon  was  appreciated 
at  something  like  his  real  literary  value  by  the  people 
of  his  time.  Little  as  we  know  of  his  life,  everything 
points  to  the  conclusion  that  his  writings  were  highly 
popular  during  his  lifetime,  not  only  among  those 
princes  and  gallants  whom  he  had  made  his  friends,  but 
among  that  Parisian  public  of  the  lower  orders,  with 
which  he  was  so  intimately  identified.  Allusions  here 
and  there  lead  us  to  suppose  that  his  ballads  and 
shorter  pieces  were  known  among  the  people  long 
before  their  publication  in  a  collective  form  and  it  is 
probable,  indeed,  that  they  were  hawked  about  in 
manuscript  and  afterwards  printed  on  broadsheets  in 
black-letter,  as  were  such  early  English  poems  as  the 
Childe  of  Bristoive  and  the  History  of  Tom  Thumb. 
For  many  years  after  his  death  the  Ballads  were  always 
distinguished  from  the  rest  by  the  descriptive  headings 
of  the  various  editions,  in  which  the  printers  announce 
"  The  Testaments  of  Villon  and  his  Ballads"  as  if  the 
latter  had  previously  been  a  separate  and  well-known 
specialty  of  the  poet's.  We  may  even  suppose  them 
to  have  been  set  to  music  and  sung,  as  were  the  odes 
of  Ronsard  a  hundred  years  later,  and  indeed  many 
of  them  seem  imperatively  to  call  for  such  treatment. 
Who  cannot  fancy  the  Ballad  of  the  Women  of  Paris — 
"  Il  n'est  bon  bec  que  de  Paris  "  —  being  carolled 
about  the  streets  by  the  students  and  street-boys  of 

76 


INTRODUCTION 

the  day,  or  the  Orison  for  Master  Cotard's  Soul  being 
trolled  out  as  a  drinking-song  by  that  jolly  toper  at 
some  jovial  reunion  of  the  notaries  and  "chicquanous  " 
of  his  acquaintance? 

The  thirty-four  editions,  known  to  have  been  pub- 
lished before  the  end  of  the  year  1542,*  are  sufficient 
evidence  of  the  demand  (probably  for  the  time  unprece- 
dented) which  existed  for  his  poems  during  the  seventy 
or  eighty  years  that  followed  his  death  ;  and  it  is  a 
significant  fact  that  the  greatest  poet  of  the  first  half 
of  the  sixteenth  century  should  have  applied  himself, 
at  the  special  request  of  Francis  I  (who  is  said  to  have 
known  Villon  by  rote),  to  rescue  the  works  of  the 
Parisian  poet  from  the  labyrinth  of  corruption  and 
misrepresentation  into  which  they  had  fallen  through 
the  carelessness  of  printers  and  the  indifference  of  the 
public,  who  seem  to  have  had  his  verses  too  well  by 
heart  to  trouble  themselves  to  protest  against  mis- 
prints and  misreadings.  In  the  preface  to  this  edition 
(of  which  twelve  reprints  in  nine  years  sufficiently 
attest  the  estimation  in  which  Villon  was  held  by  the 
cultivated  intellects  of  the  early  Renaissance  period) 
Marot  pays  a  high  tribute  to  "  le  premier  poëte  parisien," 
as  he  styles  Villon,  declaring  the  better  part  of  his 
work  to  be  of  such  artifice,  so  full  of  fair  doctrine  and 
so  emblazoned  in  a  thousand  bright  colours,  that 
Time,  which  effaces  all  things,  had  not  thitherto  suc- 
ceeded in   effacing   it    nor   should    still    less  efface  it 

[*  See  M.  Longnon's  Bibliographie  des  Imprimés.] 

11 


INTRODUCTION 

thenceforward,  so  long  as  good  French  letters  should 
be  known  and  preserved.  Marot's  own  writings  bear 
evident  traces  of  the  care  and  love  with  which  he  had 
studied  the  first  poet  of  his  time,  who  indeed  appears 
to  have  given  the  tone  to  all  the  rhymers —  Gringoire, 
Henri  Baude,  Martial  D'Auvergne,  Cretin,  Coquillart, 
Jean  Marot,  Roger  de  Collerye,  Guillaume  Alexis  — 
who  continued,  though  with  no  great  brilliancy,  to 
keep  alive  the  sound  and  cadence  of  French  song 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  and  the  first  years 
of  the  sixteenth  centuries.  The  advent  of  the  poets 
of  the  Pleiad  and  the  deluge  of  Latin  and  Greek  form 
and  sentiment  with  which  they  flooded  the  poetic 
literature  of  France  seem  at  once  to  have  arrested  the 
popularity  of  the  older  poets  :  imitations  of  Horace, 
Catullus,  Anacreon,  Pindar  took  the  place  of  the  more 
spontaneous  and  original  style  of  poetry  founded  upon 
the  innate  capacities  of  the  language  and  that  "  esprit 
Gaulois  "  which  represented  the  national  sentiment 
and  tendencies.  The  memory  of  Villon,  enfant  de 
Paris,  child  of  the  Parisian  gutter,  as  he  was,  went 
down  before  the  new  movement,  characterised  at  once 
by  its  extreme  pursuit  of  refinement  at  all  hazards  and 
its  neglect  of  those  stronger  and  deeper  currents  of 
sympathy  and  passion,  for  which  one  must  dive  deep 
into  the  troubled  waters  of  popular  life  and  activity. 
For  nearly  three  centuries  the  name  and  fame  of  the 
singer  of  the  Ladies  of  Old  Time  remained  practically 
forgotten,  buried  under  wave  upon  wave  of  literary 
and  political  movement,  all  apparently  equally  hostile 

78 


INTRODUCTION 

to  the  tendency  and  spirit  of  his  work.  We  find, 
indeed,  the  three  greatest  spirits  of  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries,  Rabelais,  Régnier  and  La 
Fontaine,  evincing  by  their  works  and  style,  if  not  by 
any  more  explicit  declaration,  their  profound  knowl- 
edge and  sincere  appreciation  of  Villon  ;  but  their 
admiration  had  no  effect  upon  the  universal  consent 
with  which  the  tastes  and  tendencies  of  their  respec- 
tive times  appear  to  have  decreed  the  complete  oblivion 
of  the  early  poet.  The  first  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  indeed,  produced  three  several  editions  of 
Villon  ;  but  the  critics  and  readers  of  the  age  were 
little  likely  to  prefer  the  robust  and  high-flavoured 
food,  that  Villon  set  before  them,  to  the  whipped 
creams,  the  rose  and  musk-scented  confections  with 
which  the  literary  pastry-cooks  of  the  day  so  liberally 
supplied  them  ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  full  develop- 
ment, towards  the  end  of  the  first  half  of  the  present 
century,  of  the  Romantic  movement  (a  movement 
whose  causes  and  tendencies  bore  so  great  an  affinity 
to  that  of  which  Villon  in  his  own  time  was  himself 
the  chief  agent),  that  he  began  to  be  in  some  measure 
restored  to  his  proper  place  in  the  hierarchy  of  French 
literature.  Yet  we  can  still  remember  the  compas 
sionate  ridicule  with  which  the  efforts  of  Théophile 
Gautier  to  revindicate  his  memory  were  received  and 
how  even  that  perfect  and  noble  spirit,  in  whose  cath- 
olic and  unerring  appreciation  no  spark  of  true  genius 
or  of  worthy  originality  ever  failed  to  light  a  corre 
sponding  flame  of  enthusiasm,  was  fain  to  dissimulate 

79 


INTRODUCTION 

the  fervour  of  his  admiration  under  the  transparent 
mask  of  partial  deprecation  and  to  provide  for  his 
too  bold  enterprise  of  rehabilitation  a  kind  of  apolo- 
getic shelter  by  classing  the  first  great  poet  of  France 
with  far  less  worthy  writers,  under  the  title  of  "  Les 
Grotesques."  In  the  country  of  his  birth,  Villon 
is  still  little  read,  although  the  illustrious  poet  Theo- 
dore de  Banville  did  much  to  expedite  the  revival  of 
his  fame  by  regenerating  the  form  in  which  his  greatest 
triumphs  were  achieved;  and  it  is  perhaps,  indeed,  in 
England  that  his  largest  public  (scanty  enough  as  yet) 
may  be  expected  to  be  found.  However,  better  days 
have  definitively  dawned  for  Villon's  memory  :  he  is  at 
last  recognised  by  all  who  occupy  themselves  with 
poetry  as  one  of  the  most  original  and  genuine  of 
European  singers  ;  and  the  spread  of  his  newly-regained 
reputation  can  now  be  only  a  matter  of  time. 

The  vigorous  beauty  and  reckless  independence  of 
Villon's  style  and  thought,  although  a  great,  have 
been  by  no  means  the  only  obstacle  to  his  enduring 
popularity.  A  hardly  less  effectual  one  has  always 
existed  in  the  evanescent  nature  of  the  allusions  upon 
which  so  large  a  part  of  his  work  is  founded.  In  the 
preface  to  the  edition  above  referred  to,  Clement 
Marot  allows  it  to  be  inferred  that,  even  at  so  com- 
paratively early  a  period  as  1533,  the  greater  part  of 
his  references  to  persons  and  places  of  his  own  day 
had  become  obscure,  if  not  altogether  undecipherable, 
to  all  but  those  few  persons  of  advanced  age,  who 
may  be  said  to  have  been  almost  his  contemporaries. 

80 


INTRODUCTION 

In  Marot's  own  words,  "  To  sufficiently  understand 
and  explain  the  industry  or  intention  of  the  bequests 
he  makes  in  his  Testament,  it  is  necessary  to  have 
been  a  Parisian  of  his  time  and  to  have  known  the 
places,  things  and  people  of  which  he  speaks,  the 
memory  whereof,  as  it  shall  more  and  more  pass 
away,  so  much  the  less  shall  be  comprehended  the 
poet's  intention  in  the  references  aforesaid."  It  is 
indeed  difficult  and  in  many  cases  impossible  to  under- 
stand the  intent,  based  upon  current  and  purely  local 
circumstance,  with  which  the  poet  made  so  many  and 
such  grotesque  bequests  to  his  friends  and  enemies. 
One  can,  by  a  stretch  of  imagination,  to  some  extent 
catch  his  meaning,  when  he  bequeaths  to  this  and 
that  hard  drinker  some  of  the  numerous  taverns  or 
wine-shops  —  the  White  Horse,  the  Mule,  the  Dia- 
mond, the  Jibbing  Ass,  the  Tankard,  the  Fir-cone,  the 
Golden  Mortar — -with  whose  names  his  verse  bristles, 
or  the  empty  casks  that  once  held  the  wine  stolen 
from  this  or  the  other  vintner  ;  to  his  roguish  compan 
ions,  the  right  of  shelter  in  the  ruins  around  Paris,  a 
cast  of  cogged  dice  or  a  pack  of  cheating-cards  ;  to 
poultry-sneaks  and  gutter-thieves,  the  long  gray  cloaks 
that  should  serve  to  conceal  their  purchase  ;  to  his 
natural  enemies,  the  sergeants  of  the  watch,  cotton 
nightcaps,*  that  they  might  sleep  in  comfortable  igno- 
rance of  his  nocturnal  misdeeds  ;  and  to  others  of  his 
dearest  foes,  the  Conciergerie  and  Châtelet    prisons, 

[*  Cornetes.      This  word  should   perhaps   be  read     in   its  older 
sense  of  "  tippet  "  or  "  bandelet."] 


INTRODUCTION 

with  a  right  of  rent-charge  on  the  pillory,  "  three 
strokes  of  withy  well  laid  on  and  prison  lodging  all 
their  life  ;  "  to  his  barber,  the  clippings  of  his  hair  and 
to  his  cobbler  and  tailor,  his  old  shoes  and  clothes 
"  for  less  than  what  they  cost  wThen  new."  And  we 
can  more  or  less  dimly  appreciate  his  satirical  inten- 
tion, when  he  bequeaths  to  monks,  nuns  and  varlets 
the  means  of  dissipation  and  debauch,  of  which  he 
had  good  reason  to  know  they  so  freely  availed  them- 
selves without  the  need  of  his  permission  ;  to  notaries 
of  the  Châtelet  the  good  grace  of  their  superior  the 
Provost  ;  to  his  friend  the  Seneschal  and  Maréchal  de 
Bourbon,  the  punning  qualification  of  maréchal  or 
blacksmith  and  the  right  of  shoeing  ducks  and  geese 
(probably  a  hit  at  the  prince's  amorous  complexion  *)  ; 
to  a  butcher  a  fat  sheep  belonging  to  some  one  else 
and  a  whisk  to  keep  the  flies  off  his  meat  ;  to  the 
women  of  pleasure,  the  right  to  hold  a  public  school 
by  night,  where  masters  should  be  taught  of  scholars  ; 
to  one  of  his  comrades,  nicknamed  (as  is  sure  to  be 
the  case  in  almost  every  band  of  thieves)  "the  Chap- 
lain," his  "simple-tonsure  chaplaincy;"  or  to  the 
three  hundred  blind  mutes  of  the  Hospital  des 
Quinze- Vingts  and  the  Cemetery  of  the  Innocents,  his 
spectacles,  that,  in  the  churchyards  where  they  served, 
they  might  see  to  separate  the  bad  from  the  good  : 
these  all  have  yet  for  us  some  glimmer,  more  or  less 

[*  Or  perhaps  at  his  simplicity,  ferrer  les  oies  being  an  old 
phrase  meaning  "  to  waste  time  in  trifling,  to  spend  both  time  and 
labour  very  vainly."—  Cotgrave .] 

82 


INTRODUCTION 

sufficient,  of  sense  and  meaning.  But  why  he  should 
bequeath  to  three  different  persons  his  double-handed 
or  battle-sword  —  an  article  it  is  not  likely  he  ever 
possessed,  the  tuck*  or  dirk  being  the  scholar's 
weapon  of  the  time  ;  why  he  should  gratify  a  clerk  to 
the  Parliament  with  a  shop  and  trade,  to  be  purchased 
out  of  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  his  hauberk  (another 
article,  by  the  by,  which  he  certainly  never  owned)  ; 
why  he  should  give  to  a  respectable  Parisian  citizen 
the  acorns  of  a  willow  plantation  and  a  daily  dole  of 
poultry  and  wine  ;  to  René  de  Montigny  three  dogs, 
and  to  Jehan  Raguyer,  a  sergeant  of  the  provostry  of 
Paris,  one  hundred  francs  ;  to  his  proctor  Fournier, 
leather  ready  cut  out  for  shoes  and  caps  ;  to  a  couple  of 
thieves,  "  bacon,  peas,  charcoal  and  wood  ;  "  to  two 
échevins  of  Paris  each  an  eggshell  full  of  francs  and 
crowns;  to  three  notaries  of  the  Châtelet  a  basketful 
each  of  stolen  cloves  ;  why  he  should  will  to  his 
barber,  Colin  Galerne,  an  iceberg  from  the  Marne,  to 
be  used  as  an  abdominal  plaster,  or  direct  the  joinder 
of  Mount  Valerien  to  Montmartre  ;  —  all  these  and 
others  of  the  same  kind — though  no  doubt  full  of 
pertinence  and  meaning  at  the  time  when  the  persons, 
things  and  places  referred  to  were  still  extant  or  fresh 
in  the  memory  of  their  contemporaries  —  are  now  for 
us  enigmas  of  the  most  hopeless  kind,  hidden  in  a 
darkness  which  may  be  felt  and  which  it  can  hardly 

[*  Tuck  (Old  Irish  tuca),  a  clerk's  short  sword  or  hanger,  not  the 
long  narrow  thrusting  weapon  (rapier)  after  known  by  the  same 
name.] 

83 


INTRODUCTION 

be  hoped  that  time  and  patience,  those  two  great 
revealers  of  hidden  things,  will  ever  avail  to  penetrate 
with  any  sufficient  light  of  interpretation.* 

Nevertheless,  when  we  have  made  the  fullest  possi- 
ble allowance  for  obscurity  and  faded  interest,  there 
still  remain  in  Villon's  surviving  verse  treasures  of 
beauty,  wit  and  wisdom  enough  to  ensure  the  preser- 
vation of  his  memory  as  a  poet  what  while  the 
French  language  and  literature  endure. t 

That  which  perhaps  most  forcibly  strikes  a  reader 
for  the  first  time  studying  Villon's  work  is  the  perfect 
absence  of  all  conventional  restrictions.     He    rejects 

[*The  antithetical  interpretation  proposed  by  M.  Bijvanck, 
according  to  which  Villon  may  be  supposed  to  have  intended  to 
annul  each  legacy  by  the  succeeding  words,  taken  in  their  sec- 
ondary meaning,  seems  hardly  satisfactory  ;  but  see  my  notes  to 
the  Poems,  passim.] 

t  I  take  this  opportunity  to  protest  against  the  fashion  which 
prevails  among  editors  and  critics  of  Villon,  of  singling  out  certain 
parts  of  his  work,  notably  his  Ballads,  for  laudation,  to  the  detri- 
ment of  the  rest  of  his  poems.  No  one  is  less  inclined  than 
myself  to  begrudge  his  splendid  Ballads  the  full  tribute  of  admira- 
tion they  deserve  ;  but,  magnificent  as  they  are,  it  is  not  (it  seems 
to  me)  in  them,  but  in  the  body  of  the  Greater  Testament,  that 
Villon's  last  word  as  a  poet  is  to  be  sought.  Here  he  put  forth 
his  full  force  and  it  is  here  (and  more  especially  in  the  magnificent 
passage,  octaves  xii  to  lxii  inclusive)  that  his  genius  shines  out  with 
a  vigour  and  plentitude  thitherto  unexampled  in  French  verse. 
The  long  passage  last  referred  to  is  one  uninterrupted  flow  of 
humour,  satire  and  pathos,  glowing  with  the  most  exquisite  meta- 
phor and  expressed  in  a  singularly  terse  and  original  style  ;  and  it 
seems  to  me  beyond  question  that  this  was,  if  not  his  last,  at  least 
his  most  mature  effort. 

s4 


INTRODUCTION 

nothing  as  common  or  unclean  and  knows  —  none 
better — how  to  draw  the  splendid  wonder  of  poetic 
efflorescence  from  the  mangrove  swamps  of  the 
truanderie  and  the  stagnant  marish  of  the  prison  or  the 
brothel.  His  wit  and  pathos  are  like  the  sun,  which 
shines  with  equal  and  impartial  light  upon  the  evil 
and  the  good,  alike  capable  of  illustrating  the  inno- 
cent sweetness  of  the  spring  and  summer  meadows 
and  of  kindling  into  a  glory  of  gold  and  colour  the 
foul  canopy  of  smoke  which  overbroods  the  turmoil  of 
a  great  city.  He  is  equally  at  home  when  celebrating 
the  valour  of  the  heroes  of  old  time  or  when  telling 
the  sorry  tragedy  of  some  ne'er-do-weel  of  his  own 
day.  His  spirit  and  tendency  are  eminently  romantic, 
in  the  sense  that  he  employed  modern  language  and 
modern  resources  to  express  and  individualise  the 
eternal  elements  of  human  interest  and  human  passion, 
as  they  appeared,  moulded  into  new  shapes  and 
invested  with  new  colours  and  characteristics  by  the 
shifting  impulses  and  tendencies  of  his  time.  He  had 
indeed,  in  no  ordinary  degree,  the  capital  qualifica- 
tion of  the  romantic  poet  :  he  understood  the  splendour 
of  modern  things  and  knew  the  conjurations  which 
should  compel  the  coy  spirit  of  contemporary  beauty 
to  cast  off  the  rags  and  tatters  of  circumstance,  the 
low  and  debased  seeming  in  which  it  was  enchanted, 
and  flower  forth,  young,  glorious  and  majestic,  as  the 
bewitched  princess  in  the  fairy  tale  puts  off  the  aspect 
and  vesture  of  hideous  and  repulsive  eld,  at  the  magic 
touch  of  perfect  love.     The  true  son  of  his  time,  he 

85 


INTRODUCTION 

rejected  at  once  and  for  ever,  with  the  unerring  judg- 
ment of  the  literary  reformer,  the  quaint  formalities 
of  speech,  the  rhetorical  exaggerations  and  limitations 
of  expression  and  the  Chinese  swathing  of  allegory 
and  conceit  that  dwarfed  the  thought  and  deformed 
the  limbs  of  the  verse  of  his  day  and  reduced  the  art 
of  poetry  to  a  kind  of  Tibetan  prayer-wheel,  in  which 
the  advent  of  the  Spring,  the  conflict  of  Love  and 
Honour,  the  cry  of  the  lover  against  the  cruelty  of  his 
mistress  and  the  glorification  of  the  latter  by  endless 
comparison  to  all  things  fit  and  unfit,  were  ground  up 
again  and  again  into  a  series  of  kaleidoscopic  patterns, 
wearisome  in  the  sameness  of  their  mannered  beauty, 
from  whose  contemplation  one  rises  with  dazzled  eyes 
and  exhausted  sense,  longing  for  some  cry  of  passion, 
some  flower-birth  of  genuine  sentiment,  to  burst  the 
strangling  sheath  of  affectation  and  prescription. 
Before  Villon  the  language  of  the  poets  of  the  time 
had  become  almost  as  pedantic,  although  not  so 
restricted  and  colourless,  as  that  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries.  By  dint  of  continual  em- 
ployment in  the  same  grooves  and  in  the  same  formal 
sense,  the  most  forceful  and  picturesque  words  of  the 
language  had  almost  ceased  to  possess  individuality 
or  colour  ;  for  the  phosphorescence  that  springs  from 
the  continual  contact  of  words  with  thought,  and  their 
reconstruction  at  the  stroke  of  passion,  was  wanting, 
not  to  be  supplied  or  replaced  by  the  aptest  ingenuity 
or  the  most  untiring  wit.  Villon  did  for  French  poetic 
speech  that  which   Rabelais  afterwards  performed  for 

86 


INTRODUCTION 

its  prose  (and  it  is  a  singular  coincidence,  which  I 
believe  has  not  before  been  remarked,  that  the  father 
of  French  poetry  and  the  father  of  French  prose  were, 
as  it  were,  predestined  to  the  task  they  accomplished 
by  the  name  common  to  both  —  François  or  French 
par  excellence).  He  restored  the  exhausted  literary 
language  of  his  time  to  youth  and  health  by  infusing 
into  it  the  healing  poisons,  the  revivifying  acids  and 
bitters  of  the  popular  speech,  disdaining  no  materials 
that  served  his  purpose,  replacing  the  defunct  forms 
with  new  phrases,  new  shapes  wrung  from  the  heart  of 
the  spoken  tongue,  plunging  with  audacious  hand  into 
the  slang  of  the  tavern  and  the  brothel,  the  cant  of  the 
highway  and  the  prison,  choosing  from  the  wayside 
heap  and  the  street  gutter  the  neglected  pebbles  and 
nodules  in  which  he  alone  divined  the  hidden  diamonds 
and  rubies  of  picturesque  expression,  to  be  polished 
and  facetted  into  glory  and  beauty  by  the  regenerating 
friction  of  poetic  employment.  None  better  than  he 
has  known  how  to  call  forth  the  electric  flash  which 
has  long  lurked  dormant,  hidden  in  its  separate  polari- 
ties, till  the  hand  of  genius  should  bring  into  strange 
and  splendid  contact  the  words  which  had  till  then 
lain  apart,  dull  and  lifeless. 

Villon  was  the  first  great  poet  of  the  people  :  his 
love  of  the  life  of  common  things,  the  easy  familiarity 
of  the  streets  and  highways,  his  intimate  knowledge 
and  love  of  the  home  and  outdoor  life  of  the  merchant, 
the  hawker,  the  artisan,  the  mountebank,  nay,  even 
the  thief,  the  prostitute  and  the  gipsy  of  his   time, 

87 


INTRODUCTION 

stand  out  in  unequivocal  characters  from  the  linea- 
ments of  his  work.  The  cry  of  the  people  rings  out 
from  his  verse, —  that  cry  of  mingled  misery  and 
humour,  sadness  and  cheerfulness,  which,  running 
through  Rabelais  and  Régnier,  was  to  pass  unheeded 
till  it  swelled  into  the  judgment-thunder  of  the  Revo- 
lution. The  sufferings,  the  oppression,  the  bonhomie, 
the  gourmandise,  the  satirical  good-humour  of  that 
French  people  which  has  so  often  been  content  to 
starve  upon  a  jesting  ballad  or  a  mocking  epigram,  its 
gallantry,  its  perspicacity  and  its  innate  lack  of  rev- 
erence for  all  that  symbolises  an  accepted  order  of 
things,  —  all  these  stand  out  in  their  natural  colours, 
drawn  to  the  life  and  harmonised  into  a  national  entity, 
to  which  the  poet  gives  the  shape  and  seeming  of  his 
own  individuality,  unconscious  that  in  relating  his  own 
hardships,  his  own  sufferings,  regrets  and  aspirations, 
he  was  limning  for  us  the  typified  and  foreshortened 
image  and  presentment  of  a  nation  at  a  cardinal  epoch 
of  national  regeneration.  "  He  builded  better  than  he 
knew."  His  poems  are  a  very  album  of  types  and 
figures  of  the  day.  As  we  read,  the  narrow,  gabled 
streets,  with  their  graven  niches  for  saint  and  Virgin 
and  their  monumental  fountains  stemming  the  stream 
of  traffic,  rise  before  us,  gay  with  endless  move- 
ment of  fur  and  satin  clad  demoiselles,  "  ruffed  and 
rebatoed,"  with  their  heart  or  diamond  shaped  head- 
dresses of  velvet  and  brocade,  fringed  and  broidered 
with  gold  and  silver;  sad-coloured  burghers  and  their 
wives    distinguished  by    the  bongrace  or  chaperon  à 


INTRODUCTION 

bourrelet,  with  its  rolled  and  stuffed  hem  ;  gold-laced 
archers  and  jaunty  clerks,  whistling  for  lustihead,  with 
the  long-peaked  hood  or  liripipe  falling  over  their 
shoulders  and  the  short  bright-coloured  walking-cloak 
letting  pass  the  glittering  point  of  the  dirk  ;  shaven, 
down-looking  monks,  "  breeched  and  booted  like 
oyster-fishers,"  and  barefooted  friars,  purple-gilled  with 
secret  and  unhallowed  debauchery  ;  light  o'  loves, 
distinguished  by  the  tall  helm  or  hennin  and  the 
gaudily  coloured  tight  fitting  surcoat,  square-cut  to 
show  the  breasts,  over  the  sheath-like  petticoat,  crossed 
by  the  demicinct  or  châtelaine  of  silver,  followed  by 
their  esquires  or  bullies  armed  with  sword  and  buck- 
ler; artisans  in  their  jerkins  of  green  cloth  or  russet 
leather;  barons  and  lords  in  the  midst  of  their  pages 
and  halberdiers  ;  ruffling  gallants,  brave  in  velvet  and 
embroidery,  with  their  boots  of  soft  tan-coloured  cor- 
dovan falling  jauntily  over  the  instep;  as  they  press 
through  a  motley  crowd  of  beggars  and  mountebanks, 
jugglers  with  their  apes  and  carpet,  arfs-de-jatte,  lepers 
with  clapdish  and  wallet,  mumpers  and  chanters, 
truands  and  gipsies,  jesters,  fish-fags,  cutpurses  and 
swash-bucklers,  that  rings  anon  with  the  shout  of 
"  Noël  !  Noël  !  "  as  Charles  VII  rides  by,  surrounded 
by  his  heralds  and  pursuivants,  or  Louis  passes  with 
no  attendants  save  his  two  dark  henchmen,  Tristan 
the  Hermit  and  Oliver  the  Fiend,  and  nothing  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  the  burghers  with  whom  he  rubs 
elbows  save  the  row  of  images  in  his  hat  and  the 
eternal  menace  of  his  unquiet  eye.     Anon  we  see  the 

89 


INTRODUCTION 

interior  of  the  convent  church  at  vespers,  with  its 
kneeling  crowd  of  worshippers  and  its  gold-grounded 
frescoes  of  heaven  and  hell,  martyrdom  and  apotheo- 
sis, glittering  vaguely  from  the  swart  shadow  of  the 
aisles.  The  choir  peals  out  and  the  air  gathers  into  a 
mist  with  incense,  what  while  an  awe-stricken  old 
woman  kneels  apart  before  the  altar  in  the  Virgin's 
chapel,  praying  for  that  scapegrace  son  who  has 
caused  her  such  bitter  tears  and  such  poignant  terrors. 
Outside,  on  the  church  steps,  sit  the  gossips,  crouched 
by  twos  and  threes  on  the  hem  of  their  robes,  chatter- 
ing in  that  fluent  Parisian  speech  to  which  the  Parisian 
poet  gives  precedence  over  all  others.  The  night 
closes  in  ;  the  dim  cressets  swing  creaking  in  the  wind 
from  the  ropes  that  stretch  across  the  half-deserted 
streets,  whilst  the  belated  students  hurry  past  to  their 
colleges,  with  hoods  drawn  closely  over  their  faces 
"  and  thumbs  in  girdle-gear,"  and  the  sergeants  of  the 
watch  pace  solemnly  by,  lantern-pole  in  one  hand  and 
in  the  other  the  halberd  wherewith  they  stir  up  the 
shivering  wretches  crouched  for  shelter  under  the 
abandoned  stalls  of  the  street  hawkers  or  draw  across 
the  ways  the  chains  that  shall  break  the  escape  of  the 
nocturnal  brawler  or  the  stealthy  thief.  Thence  to 
the  Puppet  wine-shop,  where  truand  and  light  o'  love, 
student  and  soldier,  hold  high  revel,  amidst  the  clink 
of  beakers  and  the  ever-recurring  sound  of  clashing 
daggers  and  angry  voices;  or  the  more  reputable 
tavern  of  the  Pomme  de  Pin,  where  sits  Master  Jacques 
Raguyer,  swathed  in  his  warm  mantle,  with  his  feet  to 

90 


INTRODUCTION 

the  blaze  and  his  back  resting  against  the  piles  of 
faggots  that  tower  in  the  chimney-corner;  or  the  street 
in  front  of  the  Châtelet,  where  we  find  Villon  gazing 
upon  the  great  flaring  cressets  that  give  light  over  the 
gateway  of  the  prison  with  whose  interior  he  was  so 
well  acquainted.  Anon  we  come  upon  him,  watching 
with  yearning  eyes  and  watering  mouth,  through  some 
half-open  window  or  door-chink,  the  roaring  carouses 
of  the  debauched  monks  and  nuns,  or  listening  to  the 
talk  of  La  Belle  Héaulmière  and  her  companions  in 
old  age,  as  they  crouch  on  the  floor,  under  their  cur- 
tains spun  by  the  spiders,  telling  tales  of  the  good 
times  gone  by,  in  the  scanty  short-lived  flicker  of  their 
fire  of  dried  hempstalks.  Presently,  Master  Jehan 
Cotard  staggers  past,  stumbling  against  the  projecting 
stalls  and  roaring  out  some  ranting  catch  or  jolly 
drinking-song,  and  the  bully  of  La  Grosse  Margot  hies 
him,  pitcher  in  hand,  to  the  Tankard  Tavern,  to  fetch 
wine  and  victual  for  his  clients.  Anon  the  moon 
rises,  high  and  calm,  over  the  still  churchyard  of  the 
Innocents,  where  the  quiet  dead  lie  sleeping  soundly 
in  the  deserted  charnels,  ladies  and  lords,  masters  and 
clerks,  bishops  and  water-carriers,  all  laid  low  in 
undistinguished  abasement  before  the  equality  of 
death.  Once  more,  the  scene  changes  and  we  stand 
by  the  thieves'  rendezvous  in  the  ruined  castle  of 
Bicêtre  or  by  the  lonely  gibbet  of  Montfaucon,  where 
the  poet  wanders  in  the  "  silences  of  the  moon," 
watching  with  a  terrified  fascination  the  shrivelled 
corpses  or  whitened  skeletons  of  his  whilom  comrades, 

91 


INTRODUCTION 

as  they  creak  sullenly  to  and  fro  in  the  ghastly  aureole 
of  the  midnight  star.  All  Paris  of  the  fifteenth  century 
relives  in  the  vivid  hurry  of  his  verse  :  one  hears  in 
his  stanzas  the  very  popular  cries  and  watchwords  of 
the  street  and  the  favourite  oaths  of  the  gallants  and 
women  of  the  day.  We  feel  that  all  the  world  is 
centred  for  him  in  Paris  and  that  there  is  no  landscape 
can  compare  for  him  with  those  "  paysages  de  métal 
et  de  pierre  "  which  he  (in  common  with  another 
ingrain  Parisian,  Baudelaire)  so  deeply  loved.  Much 
as  he  must  have  wandered  over  France,  we  find  in  his 
verse  no  hint  of  natural  beauty,  no  syllable  of  descrip- 
tion of  landscape  or  natural  objects.  In  these  things 
he  had  indeed  no  interest  :  flowers  and  stars,  sun  and 
moon,  spring  and  summer,  unrolled  in  vain  for  him 
their  phantasmagoria  of  splendour  and  enchantment 
over  earth  and  sky  :  men  and  women  were  his  flowers 
and  the  crowded  streets  of  the  great  city  the  woods 
and  meadows  wherein,  after  his  fashion,  he  wor- 
shipped beauty  and  did  homage  to  art.  Indeed,  he 
was  essentially  "the  man  of  the  crowd:"  his  heart 
throbbed  ever  in  unison  with  the  mass,  in  joy  or  sad- 
ness, crime  or  passion,  lust  or  patriotism,  aspiration  or 
degradation. 

It  is  astonishing,  in  the  midst  of  the  fantastic  and 
artificial  rhymers  of  the  time,  how  quickly  the  chord 
of  sensibility  in  our  poet  vibrates  to  the  broad  impulses 
of  humanity  ;  how,  untainted  by  the  selfish  provincial- 
ism of  his  day,  his  heart  warms  towards  the  great 
patriot,  Jacques  Cœur,  and  sorrows  over  his  disgrace  ; 

92 


INTRODUCTION 

how  he  appreciates  the  heroism  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  and 
denounces  penalty  upon  penalty,  that  remind  us  of  the 
70,000  pains  of  fire  of  the  Arabian  legend,  upon  the 
traitors  and  rebels  "  who  would  wish  ill  unto  the  realm 
of  France  ;  "  with  what  largeness  of  sympathy  he 
anticipates  the  modern  tenderness  over  the  fallen  and 
demonstrates  how  they  "  were  once  honest,  verily," 
till  Love,  that  befools  us  all,  beguiled  them  to  the  first 
step  upon  the  downward  road  ;  with  what  observant 
compassion  he  notes  the  silent  regrets  of  the  old  and 
the  poignant  remembrances  of  those  for  whom  all 
things  fair  have  faded  out,  glosing  with  an  iron  pathos 
upon  the  "  nessun  maggior  dolore  "  of  Dante,  in  the 
terrible  stanzas  that  enshrine,  in  pearls  and  rubies  of 
tears  and  blood,  the  passion  and  the  anguish,  the 
"agony  and  bloody  sweat"  of  La  Belle  Héaulmière. 

The  keenness  of  his  pathos  and  the  delicacy  of  his 
grace  are  as  supreme  as  what  one  of  his  commentators 
magnificently  calls  "  the  sovereign  rudeness  "  of  his 
satire.  When  he  complains  to  his  unyielding  mistress 
of  her  "  hypocrite  douceur  "  and  her  "  felon  charms," 
"  la  mort  d'un  pauvre  cœur,"  and  warns  her  of  the 
inevitable  approach  of  the  days  when  youth  and  beauty 
shall  no  more  remain  to  her,  we  seem  to  hear  a  robus- 
ter  Ronsard  sighing  out  his  "Cueillez,  cueillez  votre 
jeunesse  ;"  when  he  laments  for  the  death  of  Master 
Ythier's  beloved,  "  Two  were  we,  having  but  one 
heart,"  we  must  turn  to  Mariana's  wail  of  wistful  yet 
undespiteous  passion  for  a  sweeter  lyric  of  regret 
ful  tenderness,    a    more    pathetic    dalliance   with    the 

93 


INTRODUCTION 

simpleness  of  love  ;  and  when  he  appeals  from  the  dun- 
geon of  Meung  or  pictures  himself  and  his  companions 
swinging  from  the  gibbet  of  Montfaucon,  the  tears 
that  murmur  through  the  fantastic  fretwork  of  the  verse 
are  instinct  with  the  salt  of  blood  and  the  bitterness  of 
death.  Where  shall  we  look  for  a  more  poignant 
pathos  than  that  of  his  lament  for  his  lost  youth  or 
his  picture  of  the  whilom  gallants  of  his  early  memories 
that  now  beg  all  naked,  seeing  no  crumb  of  bread  but 
in  some  window-place  ?  Where  a  nobler  height  of 
contemplation  than  that  to  which  he  rises,  as  he 
formulates  the  unalterable  laws  that  make  king  and 
servant,  noble  and  villein,  equal  in  abasement  before 
the  unbending  majesty  of  death,  or  a  holier  purity  of 
religious  exaltation  than  breathes  from  the  ballad 
wherein,  with  the  truest  instinct  of  genius,  using  that 
mother's  voice  which  cannot  but  be  the  surest  passport 
to  the  divine  compassion,  he  soars  to  the  very  gates  of 
heaven  on  the  star-sown  wings  of  faith  and  song? 
He  is  one  more  instance  of  the  potentiality  of  grace 
and  pathos  that  often  lurks  in  natures  distinguished 
chiefly  for  strength  and  passion.  Like  the  great 
realistic  poet  *  of  nineteenth-century  France,  he  knew 
how  to  force  death  and  horror  to  give  up  for  him 
their  hidden  beauties  :  and  if  his  own  Fleurs  du  Mal 
are  often  instinct  with  the  poisons  that  suggest  the 
marshy  and  miasmatic  nature  of  the  soil  to  which  they 
owe   their  resplendent   colourings,   yet   the  torrent  of 

*  Baudelaire. 

94 


INTRODUCTION 

satire,  mockery  and  invective,  that  laves  their  tangled 
roots,  is  often  over-arched  with  the  subtlest  and 
brightest  irises  of  pure  pathos  and  delicate  sentiment. 
"  Out  of  the  strong  cometh  sweetness,"  and  in  few 
poets  has  the  pregnant  fable  of  the  honeycomb  in  the 
lion's  mouth  been  more  forcibly  exemplified  than  in 
Villon. 

Humour  is  with  Villon  no  less  pronounced  a  char- 
acteristic than  pathos.  Unstrained  and  genuine,  it 
arises  mainly  from  the  continual  contrast  between  the 
abasement  of  his  life  and  the  worthlessness  of  its 
possibilities  and  the  passionate  and  ardent  nature  of 
the  man.  He  seems  to  be  always  in  a  state  of 
humorous  astonishment  at  his  own  mad  career  and 
the  perpetual  perplexities  into  which  his  folly  and 
recklessness  have  betrayed  him;  and  this  feeling  con- 
stantly overpowers  his  underlying  remorse  and  the 
anguish  which  he  suffers  under  the  pressure  of  the  de- 
plorable circumstances  wherein  he  continually  finds  him 
self  involved.  The  spiel-trieb  or  sport-impulse,  which 
has  been  pronounced  the  highest  attribute  of  genius, 
stands  out  with  a  rare  prominence  from  his  character, 
never  to  be  altogether  suppressed  by  the  most  over- 
whelming calamities.  The  most  terrible  and  ghastly 
surroundings  of  circumstance  cannot  avail  wholly  to 
arrest  the  ever-springing  fountain  of  wit  and  bonhomie 
that  wells  up  from  the  inmost  nature  of  the  man.  In 
the  midst  of  all  his  miseries,  with  his  tears  yet  undried, 
he  mocks  at  himself  and  others  with  an  astounding 
good-humour.     In  the  dreary  dungeon  of  the  Meung 

95 


INTRODUCTION 

moat,  we  find  him  bandying  jests  with  his  own  personi 
fied  remorse  ;  and  even  whilst  awaiting  a  shameful 
death,  he  seeks  consolation  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  comic  aspects  of  his  situation,  as  he  will  presently 
appear,  upright  in  the  air,  swinging  at  the  wind's  will, 
with  face  like  a  thimble  for  bird-pecks  and  skin  black- 
ened of  "  that  ill  sun  which  tans  a  man  when  he  is 
dead."  It  is  a  foul  death  to  die,  he  says,  yet  we  must 
all  die  some  day,  and  it  matters  little  whether  we  then 
find  ourselves  a  lord  rotting  in  a  splendid  sepulchre  or 
a  cutpurse  strung  up  on  Montfaucon  hill.  He  laughs 
at  his  own  rascality  and  poverty,  lustfulness  and  glut- 
tony, with  an  unexampled  naïveté  of  candour,  singu- 
larly free  from  cynicism,  yet  always  manages  to 
conciliate  our  sympathies  and  induce  our  pity  rather 
than  our  reprobation.  "  It  is  not  to  poor  wretches 
like  us,"  says  he,  "  that  are  naked  as  a  snake,  sad  at 
heart  and  empty  of  paunch,  that  you  should  preach 
virtue  and  temperance.  As  for  us,  God  give  us 
patience.  You  would  do  better  to  address  yourselves 
to  incite  great  lords  and  masters  to  good  deeds,  who 
eat  and  drink  of  the  best  every  day  and  are  more  open 
to  exhortation  than  beggars  like  ourselves  that  cease 
never  from  want." 

His  faith  in  the  saving  virtues  of  meat  and  drink  is 
both  droll  and  touching.  One  feels,  in  all  his  verse, 
the  distant  and  yearning  respect  with  which  the 
starveling  poet  regards  all  manner  of  victual,  as  he 
enumerates  its  various  incarnations  in  a  kind  of  litany 
or  psalm  of   adorations,  in    which    they  resemble  the 

96 


INTRODUCTION 

denominations  and  attributes  of  saints  and  martyrs  to 
whom  he  knelt  in  unceasing  and  ineffectual  prayer. 
Wines,  hypocras,  roast  meats,  sauces,  soups,  custards, 
tarts,  eggs,  pheasants,  partridges,  plovers,  pigeons, 
capons,  fat  geese,  pies,  cakes,  furmenty,  creams,  pasties 
and  other  "  savoureux  et  friands  morceaux  "  defile  in 
long  and  picturesque  procession  through  his  verse, 
like  a  dissolving  view  of  Paradise,  before  whose  gates 
he  knelt  and  longed  in  vain.  His  ideal  of  perfect 
happiness  is  to  "break  bread  with  both  hands,"  a 
potentiality  of  ecstatic  bliss  which  he  attributes  to  the 
friars  of  the  four  mendicant  orders  :  no  delights  of 
love  or  pastoral  sweetness,  "  not  all  the  birds  that 
singen  all  the  way  from  here  to  Babylon  "  (as  he  says) 
could  induce  him  to  spend  one  day  amid  the  hard 
lying  and  sober  fare  of  a  country  life  ;  and  the  only 
enemy  whom  he  refuses  to  forgive  at  his  last  hour  is 
the  Bishop  of  Orleans,  who  fed  him  so  scurvily  a 
whole  summer  long  upon  cold  water  and  dry  bread 
(not  even  manchets,  says  he  piteously).  If  he  cannot 
come  at  his  desire  in  the  possession  of  the  dainties  for 
which  his  soul  longs,  there  is  still  some  sad  pleasure 
for  him  in  caressing  in  imagination  the  sacrosanct 
denominations  of  that  "  bienheureux  harnoys  de 
gueule,"  which  hovers  for  him,  afar  off,  in  the  rosy 
mists  of  an  apotheosis.  In  this  respect,  as  in  no  few 
others,  he  forcibly  reminds  one  of  another  strange  and 
noteworthy  figure  converted  by  genius  into  an  eternal 
type,  that  Neveu  de  Rameau,  in  whom  the  reductio  ad 
absurdutn    of   the  whole  sensualist  philosophy  of  the 

97 


INTRODUCTION 

eighteenth  century  was  crystallised  by  Diderot  into  so 
poignant  and  curious  a  personality.  Like  Jean 
Rameau,  the  whole  mystery  of  life  seems  for  Villon  to 
have  resolved  itself  into  the  cabalistic  science  "de 
mettre  sous  la  dent,"  that  noble  and  abstract  art  of 
providing  for  the  reparation  of  the  region  below  the 
nose,  of  whose  alcahest  and  hermetic  essence  he  so 
deplorably  fell  short  ;  and  as  we  make  this  unavoidable 
comparison,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  surprised  into 
regret  for  the  absence  of  some  Diderot  who  might,  in 
like  manner,  have  rescued  for  us  the  singular  individ- 
uality of  the  Bohemian  poet  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

With  all  his  faults,  a  most  sympathetic  and  attractive 
personality  detaches  itself  from  the  unsparing  candour 
of  his  confessions.  One  cannot  help  loving  the  frank, 
witty,  devil-may-care  poet,  with  his  ready  tears  and  his 
as  ready  laughter,  his  large  compassion  for  all  pitiable 
and  his  unaffected  sympathy  with  all  noble  things. 
Specially  attractive  is  the  sweetness  of  his  good- 
humour  :  so  devoid  of  gall  is  he  that  he  seems  to 
cherish  no  enduring  bitterness  against  his  most  cruel 
enemies,  content  if  he  can  make  them  the  subject  of 
some  passing  jest  or  some  merry  piece  of  satire.  He 
has  no  serious  reproach  for  the  cold-hearted  woman  to 
whom  he  attributes  his  misspent  life  and  early  death, 
nor  does  he  allow  himself  the  solace  of  one  bitter 
word  against  the  cruel  creditors  who  seized  the  mo- 
ment of  his  deliverance  from  Meung  gaol,  exhausted, 
emaciated  and  dying,  to  strip  him  of  the  little  that  he 
possessed.      Thibault  d'Aussigny,  the    author  of  his 

98 


INTRODUCTION 

duresse  in  Meung  gaol,  and  François  Perdryer,  at  the 
nature  of  whose  offence  against  him  we  can  only  guess 
are  the  only  ones  he  cannot  forgive,  and  his  invectives 
against  the  former  are  of  a  half-burlesque  character, 
that  permits  us  to  suspect  a  humorous  exaggeration 
in  their  unyielding  bitterness. 

Looking  at  the  whole  course  of  Villon's  life  and  at 
the  portrait  which  he  himself  paints  for  us  in  such 
crude  and  unsparing  colours,  we  can  hardly  doubt 
that,  under  different  circumstances,  had  his  life  been 
consecrated  by  successful  love  and  the  hope  of  those 
higher  things  to  whose  nobility  he  was  so  keenly 
though  unpractically  sensitive,  he  might  have  filled  a 
worthier  place  in  the  history  of  his  time  and  have 
furnished  a  more  honourable  career  than  that  of  the 
careless  Bohemian,  driven  into  crime,  disgrace  and 
ruin  by  the  double  influence  of  his  own  unchecked 
desires  and  the  maddening  wistfulness  of  an  unrequited 
love.  Still,  whatever  effect  change  of  circumstance 
might  have  had  in  the  possible  ennobling  of  the  sorry 
melodrama  of  his  life,  we  at  least  cannot  complain  of 
the  influences  that  presided  over  the  accomplishment 
of  his  destiny  ;  for  they  resulted  in  ripening  and 
developing  the  genius  of  a  great  and  unique  poet. 
The  world  of  posterity  is  always  and  rightly  ready  to 
accept  the  fact  of  a  great  artistic  personality,  even  at 
the  expense  of  morality  and  decency  ;  and  instances 
are  not  wanting  in  which  moral  and  material  ameliora- 
tion has  destroyed  the  mustard-seed  of  genius,  that 
poverty  and    distress,  those  rude  and    sober    nurses, 

99 


INTRODUCTION 

might  have  fostered  into  a  mighty  tree,  giving  shelter 
and  comfort  to  all  who  took  refuge  under  its  branches.. 
To  quote  once  more  the  words  of  the  greatest  critic  * 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  "  We  might  perhaps  have 
lost  the  poet,  whilst  gaining  the  honest  man;  and  good 
poets  are  still  rarer  than  honest  folk,  though  the 
latter  can  scarce  be  said  to  be  too  common." 

*  Théophile  Gautier. 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Sicrc  bcgtmtctli  tjje   Cesser   Testament   of  paster 
Jfrancois  Dillon 


HIS  fourteen  six  and  fiftieth  year, 
I  François  Villon,  clerk  that  be, 

Considering,  with  senses  clear, 
Bit  betwixt  teeth  and  collar-free, 
That  one  must  needs  look  orderly 

Unto  his  works  (as  counselleth 
Vegetius,  wise  Roman  he). 

Or  else  amiss  one  reckoneth,  — 


In  this  year,  as  before  I  said. 

Hard  by  the  dead  of  Christmas-time, 

When  upon  wind  the  wolves  are  fed 
And  for  the  rigour  of  the  rime 
One  hugs  the  hearth  from  none  to  prime, 

Wish  came  to  me  to  break  the  stress 
Of  that  most  dolorous  prison-clime 

Wherein  Love  held  me  in  duresse. 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Unto  this  fashion  am  I  bent, 
Seeing  my  lady,  'neath  my  eyes, 

To  my  undoing  give  consent, 
Sans  gain  to  her  in  any  wise  : 
Whereof  I  plain  me  to  the  skies, 

Requiring  vengeance  (her  desert) 
Of  all  the  gods  with  whom    it  lies, 

And  of  Love,  healing  for  my  hurt. 


If  to  my  gree,  alack,  I  read 

Those  dulcet  looks  and  semblants  fair 
Of  such  deceitful  goodlihead, 

That  pierced  me  to  the  heart  whilere, 

Now  iu  the  lurch  they've  left  me  bare 
And  failed  me  at  my  utmost  need  : 

Fain  must  I  plant  it  otherwhere 
And  in  fresh  furrows  strike  my  seed. 


She  that  hath  bound  me  with  her  eyes 
(Alack,  how  fierce  and  fell  to  me  !  ), 

Without  my  fault  in  any  wise, 

Wills  and  ordains  that  I  should  dree 
Death  and  leave  life  and  liberty. 

Help  see  I  none,  save  flight  alone  : 

She  breaks  the  bonds  betwixt  her  and  me 

Nor  hearkens  to  my  piteous  moan. 

104 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


To  'scape  the  ills  that  hem  me  round, 
It  were  the  wiser  to  depart. 

Adieu  !  To  Angers  I  am  bound, 
Since  she  I  love  will  nor  impart 
Her  grace  nor  any  of  her  heart. 

I  die  —  with  body  whole  enough  — 
For  her;  a  martyr  to  Love's  smart, 

Enrolled  among  the  saints  thereof. 


Sore  though  it  be  to  part  from  her, 

Needs  must  I  go  without  delay. 
(  How  hard  my  poor  sense  is  to  stir  !  ) 

Other  than  I  with  her's  in  play  ; 

Whence  never  Bullen  herring  aye 
Was  drouthier  of  case  than  I. 

A  sorry  business,  wellaway, 
It  is  for  me,  God  hear  my  cry  I 


And  since  (need  being  on  me  laid) 
I  go  and  haply  never  may 

Again  return,  (  not  being  made 
Of  steel  or  bronze  or  other  way 
Than  other  men  :  life  but  a  day 

Lasteth  and  death  knows  no  relent) 
For  me,  I  journey  far  away; 

Wherefore  I  make  this  Testament. 

105 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 

IX 

First,  in  the  name  of  God  the  Lord, 
The  Son  and  eke  the  Holy  Spright, 

And  in  her  name  by  whose  accord 
No  creature  perisheth  outright, 
To  Master  Villon,  Guillaume  hight, 

My  fame  I  leave,  that  still  doth  swell 
In  his  name's  honour  clay  and  night, 

And  eke  my  tents  and  pennoncel. 


Item,  to  her,  who,  as  I've  said, 
So  dourly  banished  me  her  sight 

That  all  my  gladness  she  forbade 
And  ousted  me  of  all  delight, 
I  leave  my  heart  in  deposite, 

Piteous  and  pale  and  numb  and  dead. 
She  brought  me  to  this  sorry  plight  : 

May  God  not  wreak  it  on  her  head  ! 


Item,  my  trenchant  sword  of  steel 

I  leave  to  Master  Ythier 
Marchant  —  to  whom  myself  I  feel 

No  little  bounden — that  he  may, 

According  to  my  will,  defray 
The  scot  for  which  in  pawn  it  lies 

(  Six  sols  ),  and  then  the  sword  convey 
To  Jehan  le  Cornu,  free  of  price. 

1 06 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  I  leave  to  Saint  Aniand 

The  Mule  and  eke  the  Charger  White 
And  to  Blaru,  my  Diamond 

And  Jibbing  Ass  with  stripes  bedight  ; 

And  the  Decretal,  too,  that  hight 
Omnis  utrius  — that,  to  wit, 

Known  as  the  counter-Carmelite  — 
Unto  the  priests  I  do  commit. 


To  Jehan  Tronne,  butcher,  I  devise 
The  Wether  lusty  and  unpolled 

And  Gad  to  whisk  away  the  flies, 

With  the  Crowned  Ox,  that's  to  be  sold, 
And  Cow,  whereon  the  churl  hath  hold, 

To  hoist  it  on  his  back.     If  he 

To  keep  the  beast  himself  make  bold, 

Trussed  up  and  strangled  let  him  be. 


To  Master  Robert  Vallée  (  who, 
Poor  clerkling  to  the  Parliament, 

(  twtis  valley  neither  hill,  )  I  do 
Will  first,  by  this  my  Testament, 
My  hose  be  giv'n  incontinent, 

Which  on  the  clothes-pegs  hang,  that  he 
May  tire  withal,  'tis  my  intent, 

His  mistress  Jehanne  more  decently. 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


But  since  he  is  of  good  extract, 

Needs  must  he  better  guerdoned  be 
(  For  God  His  Law  doth  so  enact  ) 

Though  featherbrained  withal  is  he  ; 

They  shall,  I  have  bethoughten  me, 
Since  in  his  pate  he  hath  no  sense, 

Give  him  the  Art  of  Memory, 
To  be  ta'en  up  from  Misprepense. 


And  thirdly,  for  the  livelihood 

Of  Master  Robert  aforesaid 
(  My  kin,  for  God's  sake,  hold  it  good  !  ) 

Be  money  of  my  hauberk  made 

And  (  or  most  part  thereof  )  outlaid. 
Ere  Easter  pass,  in  purchasing 

(  Hard  by  St.  Jacques)  a  shop  and  trade 
For  the  poor  witless  lawyerling. 


Item,  my  gloves  and  silken  hood 

My  friend  Jacques  Cardon,  I  declare, 
Shall  have  in  fair  free  gift  for  good  ; 

Also  the  acorns  willows  bear 

And  every  day  a  capon  fair 
Or  goose;  likewise  a  tenfold  vat 

Of  chalk-white  wine,  besides  a  pair 
Of  lawsuits,  lest  he  wax  too  fat. 

1 08 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  a  leash  of  dogs  I  give 
To  young  René  de  Montigny  ; 

And  let  Jehan  Raguyer  receive 

One  hundred  francs,  shall  levied  be 
On  all  my  goods.     But  soft  ;  to  me 

Scant  gain  therefrom  I  apprehend  : 

One  should  not  strip  one's  own,  perdie, 

Nor  over-ask  it  of  one's  friend. 


Item,  to  Baron  de  Grigny 

The  ward  and  keeping  of  Nygeon, 
With  six  dogs  more  than  Montigny, 

And  Bicêtre,  castle  and  donjon  ; 

And  to  that  scurvy  knave  Changon, 
A  spy  that  holds  him  still  in  strife, 

Three  strokes  of  withy  well  laid  on 
And  prison-lodging  all  his  life. 


Item,  I  leave  Jacques  Raguyer 

The  '  Puppet  '  Cistern,  peach  and  pear, 
Perch,  chickens,  custards,  night  and  day, 

At  the  Great  Figtree  choice  of  fare 

And  eke  the  Fircone  Tavern,  where 
He  may  sit,  cloaked  in  cloth  of  frieze, 

Feet  to  the  fire  and  back  to  chair, 
And  let  the  world  wag  at  his  ease. 

ioo. 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  to  John  the  foul  of  face 

And  Peter  Tanner  I  devise, 
By  way  of  gift,  that  baron's  grace 

That  punishes  all  felonies  ; 

To  Fournier,  my  proctor  wise, 
Leather  cut  out  for  caps  and  shoes, 

That  now  at  the  cordwainer's  lies. 
For  him  these  frosty  days  to  use. 


The  Captain  of  the  Watch,  also, 

Shall  have  the  Helmet,  in  full  right  ; 

And  to  the  crimps,  that  cat-foot  go, 
A-fumbling  in  the  stalls  by  night, 
I  leave  two  rubies,  clear  and  bright, 

The  Lantern  of  La  Pierre  au  Lait. 
'Deed,  the  Three  Lilies  have  I  might, 

Haled  they  me  to  the  Châtelet. 


To  Pernet  Marchand,  eke,  in  fee, 
(  Bastard  of  Bar  by  sobriquet  ) 

For  that  a  good-cheap  man  is  he, 
I  give  three  sheaves  of  straw  or  hay, 
Upon  the  naked  floor  to  lay 

And  so  the  amorous  trade  to  ply. 
For  that  he  knows  no  other  way 

Or  art  to  get  his  living  by. 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  to  Chollet  I  bequeath 
And  Loup,  a  duck,  once  in  a  way 

Caught  as  of  old  the  walls  beneath 
Upon  the  moat,  towards  end  of  day 
And  each  a  friar's  gown  of  gray  — 

Such  as  fall  down  beneath  the  knees  — 
My  boots  with  uppers  worn  away, 

And  charcoal,  wood,  bacon  and  peas. 


Item,  this  trust  I  do  declare 

For  three  poor  children  named  below  : 
Three  little  orphans  lone  and  bare, 

That  hungry  and  unshodden  go 

And  naked  to  all  winds  that  blow  ; 
That  they  may  be  provided  for 

And  sheltered  from  the  rain  and  snow. 
At  least  until  this  winter's  o'er. 


To  Colin  Laurens,  Jehan  Moreau 
And  Girard  Gossain,  having  ne'er 

A  farthing's  worth  of  substance,  no, 
Nor  kith  nor  kindred  anywhere, 
I  leave,  at  option,  each  a  share 

Of  goods  or  else  four  blanks  once  told. 
Full  merrily  they  thus  shall  fare, 

Poor  silly  souls,  when  they  are  old. 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  my  right  of  nomination 
Holden  of  the  University, 

I  leave,  by  way  of  resignation, 
To  rescue  from  adversity 
Poor  clerks  that  of  this  city  be, 

Hereunder  named,  for  very  ruth 
That  thereunto  incited  me, 

Seeing  them  naked  all  as  Truth. 


Their  names  are  Thibault  de  Vitry 
And  Guillaume  Cotin  — peaceable 

Poor  wights,  that  humble  scholars  be. 
Latin  they  featly  speak  and  spell 
And  at  the  lectern  sing  right  well. 

I  do  devise  to  them  in  fee 

(  Till  better  fortune  with  them  dwell  ) 

A  rent-charge  on  the  pillory. 


Item,  the  Crozier  of  the  street 
Of  St.  Antoine  I  do  ordain, 

Also  a  cue  wherewith  folk  beat 
And  every  day  full  pot  of  Seine 
To  those  that  in  the  trap  are  ta'en, 

Bound  hand  and  foot  in  close  duresse 
My  mirror  eke  and  grace  to  gain 

The  favors  of  the  gaoleress. 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  I  leave  the  hospitals 

My  curtains  spun  the  spiders  by  ; 

And  to  the  lodgers  'neath  the  stalls 
Each  one  a  buffet  on  the  eye 
And  leave  to  tremble,  as  they  lie. 

Bruised,  frozen,  drenched,  unshorn  and  lean, 
With  hose  shrunk  half  way  up  the  thigh, 

Gowns  all  to-clipt  and  woeful  mien. 


Unto  my  barber  I  devise 

The  ends  and  clippings  of  my  hair  ; 
Item,  on  charitable  wise, 

I  leave  my  old  boots,  every  pair, 

Unto  the  cobbler  and  declare 
My  clothes  the  broker's,  so  these  two 

May  when  I'm  dead  my  leavings  share, 
For  less  than  what  they  cost  when  new. 


Unto  the  begging  Orders  four, 
The  nuns  and  sisters  (  tidbits  they 

Dainty  and  prime  )  I  leave  and  store 
Of  flawns,  poults,  capons,  so  they  may 
Break  bread  with  both  hands  night  and  day 

And  eke  the  Fifteen  Signs  declare  : 

Monks  court  our  neighbours'  wives,  folk  say, 

But  that  is  none  of  my  affair. 

113 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


To  John  o'  Guard,  that  grocer  hight, 

The  Golden  Mortar  I  make  o'er, 
To  grind  his  mustard  in  aright  ; 

Also  a  pestle  from  St.  Maur; 

And  unto  him  that  goes  before, 
To  lay  one  by  the  legs  in  quod, 

St.  Anthony  roast  him  full  sore  I 
I'll  leave  him  nothing  else,  by  God. 


Item,  to  Mairebeuf,  as  well 

As  Nicholas  de  Louvieux, 
Each  one  I  leave  a  whole  eggshell 

Full  of  old  crowns  and  francs,  and  to 

The  seneschal  of  Gouvieux, 
Peter  de  Ronseville,  no  less; 

Such  crowns  I  mean,  to  tell  you  true, 
As  the  prince  giveth  for  largesse. 


Finally,  being  here  alone 

To-night  and  in  good  trim  to  write, 
I  heard  the  clock  of  the  Sorbonne, 

That  aye  at  nine  o'clock  of  night 

Is  wont  the  Angelus  to  smite  : 
Then  I  my  task  did  intermit, 

That  to  our  Lady  mild  I  might 
Do  suit  and  service,  as  is  fit. 

114 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


This  done,  I  half  forgot  myself, 
What  while  I  felt  Dame  Memory 

Take  in  and  lay  upon  her  shelf 

(  The  wit,  as  'twere,  being  bound  in  me, 
Though  not  for  wine-bibbing,  perdie  ), 

Her  faculties  collateral, 

Th'  opinative  in  each  degree 

And  others  intellectual. 


And  on  likewise  th'  estimative, 

—  Whereby  prosperity  we  gain,  — 
Similative  and  formative, 

By  whose  disorder  folk  remain 

Oft  lunatic,  to  wit,  insane, 
From  month  to  month  ;  which  aforesaid 

I  mind  me  often  and  again 
In  Aristotle  to  have  read. 


Then  did  the  sensitive  upieap 
And  gave  the  cue  to  fantasy, 

That  roused  the  organs  all  from  sleep, 
But  held  the  sovereign  faculty 
Still  in  suspense  for  lethargy 

And  pressure  of  oblivion, 

Which  had  dispread  itself  in  me, 

To  show  the  senses'  union. 

115 


THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 


Then,  when  my  senses  in  due  course 
Grew  calm  and  understanding  clear, 

I  thought  to  finish  my  discourse, 
But  found  my  inkpot  frozen  sheer 
And  candle  out,  nor  far  nor  near 

Fire  might  I  find,  so  must  of  need, 
All  muffled  up  for  warmer  cheer, 

Get  me  to  sleep  and  end^y  rede. 


Done  at  the  season  aforesaid 

Of  the  right  well-renowned  Villon, 
Who  eats  nor  white  nor  oaten  bread, 

Black  as  a  malkin,  shrunk  and  wan. 

Tents  and  pavilions  every  one 
He's  left  to  one  or  t'other  friend; 

All  but  a  little  pewter's  gone, 
That  will,  ere  long,  come  to  an  end. 

$erc    eitaetlj    tjje    Cesser    Testament    of    Paster 
grantors  Dillon 


Tl6 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


)tu  beginitetb  t^rc   Greater    Testament  of  Paster 
Jrantois  Dillon 


N  the  year  thirty  of  my  age, 

Wherein  I've  drunk  so   deep  of 
shame, 

Neither  all  fool  nor  yet  all  sage, 
For  all  my  misery  and  blame  — 
Which  latter  all  upon  me  came 

Through    Bishop    Thibault    d'Aus- 
signy  : 
(If  bishop  such  an  one  folk  name; 

At  all  events,  he's  none  for  me  : 


He's  nor  my  bishop  nor  my  lord  ; 

I  hold  of  him  nor  land  nor  fee, 
Owe  him  nor  homage  nor  accord, 

Am  nor  his  churl  nor  beast,  perdie). 

A  summer  long  he  nourished  me 
Upon  cold  water  and  dry  bread; 

God  do  by  him  as  he  by  me, 
Whom  passing  scurvily  he  fed. 

119 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


If  any  go  about  to  say 

I  do  miscall  him  —  I  say  no  : 
I  wrong  him  not  in  any  way, 

If  one  aread  me  rightly.     Lo  ! 

Here's  all  I  say,  nor  less  nor  mo  ; 
If  he  had  mercy  on  my  dole, 

May  Christ  in  heaven  like  mercy  show 
Unto  his  body  and  his  soul  ! 


And  if  he  wrought  me  pain  and  ill 

More  than  herein  I  do  relate, 
God  of  His  grace  to  him  fulfil 

Like  measure  and  proportionate  ! 

But  the  Church  bids  us  not  to  hate, 
But  to  pray  rather  for  our  foes  : 

I'll  own  I'm  wrong  and  leave  his  fate 
To  God  that  all  things  can  and  knows. 


And  pray  for  him  I  will,  to  boot, 
By  Master  Cotard's  soul  I  swear  ! 

But  soft  :  'twill  then  be  but  by  rote  ; 
I'm  ill  at  reading  ;  such  a  prayer 
I'll  say  for  him  as  Picards'  were. 

(  If  what  I  mean  he  do  not  know  — 
Ere  'tis  too  late  to  learn  it  there  — 

To  Lille  or  Douai  let  him  go). 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Yet,  if  he  needs  must  have't  that  I 
Should,  willy  nilly,  for  him  pray, 

(  Though  I  proclaim  it  not  on  high  ) 
As  I'm  a  chrisom  man,  his  way 
He  e'en  shall  get  ;  but,  sooth  to  say, 

When  I  the  Psalter  ope  for  him, 
I  take  the  seventh  verse  ahvay 

Of  the  psalm  called  "  Deus  laudem." 


IDC)  implore  God's  blessed  Son, 
To  whom  I  turn  in  every  need. 
So  haply  my  poor  orison 

Find  grace  with  Him  —  from  whom  indeed 
Body  and  soul  I  hold  —  who's  freed 
Me  oft  from  blame  and  evil  chance. 

Praised  be  our  Lady  and  her  Seed 
And  Louis  the  good  King  of  France! 


Whom  God  with  Jacob's  luck  endow, 

And  glory  of  great  Solomon  ! 
Of  doughtiness  he  has  enow, 

In  sooth,  and  of  dominion. 

In  all  the  lands  the  sun  shines  on, 
In  this  our  world  of  night  and  day, 

God  grant  his  fame  and  memory  wonne 
As  long  as  lived  Methusaleh  ! 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


May  twelve  fair  sons  perpetuate 
His  royal  lineage,  one  and  all 

As  valorous  as  Charles  the  Great, 
Conceived  in  matrix  conjugal, 
As  doughty  as  Saint  Martial  ! 

The  late  Lord  Dauphin  fare  likewise  ; 
No  worser  fortune  him  befall 

Than  this  and  after,  Paradise  ! 


FEELING  myself  upon  the  wane, 
Even  more  in  goods  than  body  spent, 
Whilst  my  full  senses  I  retain, 
What  little  God  to  me  hath  sent 
(  Eor  on  no  other  have  I  leant), 
I  have  set  down  of  my  last  will 
This  very  stable  Testament, 
Alone  and  irrevocable. 


Written  in  the  same  year,  sixty-one, 
Wherein  the  good  king  set  me  free 

From  the  dour  prison  of  Mehun 
And  so  to  life  recovered  me  : 
Whence  I  to  him  shall  bounden  be 

As  long  as  life  in  me  fail  not  : 
I'm  his  till  death  ;  assuredly, 

Good  deeds  should  never  be  forgot. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

)m  begimutl)  Dillon  to  enter  upoit  matter  full  of 
rrubition  anb  of  fair  hnotrrlcbge 


NOW  is  it  true  that,  after  years 
(  )f  anguish  and  of  sorrowing, 
Travail  and  toil  and  groans  and  tears 
And  many  a  weary  wandering. 
Trouble  hath  wrought  in  me  to  brinj 
To  point  each  shifting  sentiment, 

Teaching  me  many  another  thing 
Than  Averrhoes  his  Comment. 


However,  at  my  trials'  worst, 

When  wandering  in  the  desert  ways, 
God,  who  the  Emmaus  pilgrims  erst 

Did  comfort,  as  the  Gospel  says, 

Showed  me  a  certain  resting-place 
And  gave  me  gift  of  hope  no  less  ; 

Though  vile  the  sinner  be  and  base, 
Nothing  He  hates  save  stubbornness. 


Sinned  have  I  oft,  as  well  I  know  ; 

But  God  my  death  doth  not  require. 
But  that  I  turn  from  sin  and  so 

Live  righteously  and  shun  hellfire. 

,23 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Whether  one  by  sincere  desire 
Or  counsel  turn  unto  the  Lord, 

He  sees  and  casting  off  His  ire, 
Grace  to  repentance  doth  accord. 


And  as  of  its  own  motion  shows, 

Ev'n  in  the  very  first  of  it, 
The  noble  Romaunt  of  the  Rose, 

Youth  to  the  young  one  should  remit. 

So  manhood  do  mature  the  wit. 
And  there,  alack  !  the  song  says  sooth  : 

They  that  such  snares  for  me  have  knit 
Would  have  me  die  in  time  of  youth. 


If  for  my  death  the  common  weal 

Might  anywise  embettered  be, 
Death  my  own  hand  to  me  should  deal 

As  felon,  so  God  'stablish  me  ! 

But  unto  none,  that  I  can  see, 
Hindrance  I  do,  alive  or  dead  ; 

The  hills,  for  one  poor  wight,  perdie, 
Will  not  be  stirred  out  of  their  stead. 


WHILOM,  when  Alexander  reigned. 
A  man  that  hight  Diomedes 
Before  the  Emperor  was  arraigned, 
Bound  hand  and  foot,  like  as  one  sees 

124 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

A  thief.  A  skimmer  of  the  seas 
Of  those  that  course  it  far  and  nigh 

He  was,  and  so,  as  one  of  these, 
They  brought  him  to  be  doomed  to  die. 

XVIII 

The  emperor  bespoke  him  thus  : 

'  Why  art  thou  a  sea-plunderer?' 
The  other,  no  wise  timorous  : 

'  Why  dost  thou  call  me  plunderer,  sir? 

Is  it,  perchance,  because  I  ear 
Upon  so  mean  a  bark  the  sea? 

Could  I  but  arm  me  with  thy  gear, 
I  would  be  emperor  like  to  thee. 


'  What  wouldst  thou  have  ?     From  sorry  Fate, 

That  uses  me  with  such  despite 
As  I  on  no  wise  can  abate, 

Arises  this  my  evil  plight. 

Let  me  find  favour  in  thy  sight 
And  have  in  mind  the  common  saw  : 

In  penury  is  little  right  ; 
Necessity  knows  no  man's  law.' 


Whenas  the  emperor  to  his  suit 

Had  hearkened,  much  he  wondered 

And  '  I  thy  fortune  will  commute 
From  bad  to  good,'  to  him  he  said  ; 

125 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

And  did.     Thenceforward  Uiomed 
Wronged  none,  but  was  a  true  man  aye. 

Thus  have  I  in  Valerius  read, 
Of  Rome  styled  Greatest  in  his  day. 


If  God  had  granted  me  to  find 
A  king  of  like  greatheartedness, 

That  had  fair  fate  to  me  assigned, 
Stooped  I  thenceforward  to  excess 
Or  ill,  I  would  myself  confess 

Worthy  to  die  by  fire  at  stake. 
Necessity  makes  folk  transgress 

And  want  drives  wolven  from  the  brake. 


MY  time  of  youth  I  do  bewail, 
That  more  than  most  lived  merrily, 
Until  old  age  'gan  me  assail, 

Eor  youth  had  passed  unconsciously. 
It  wended  not  afoot  from  me, 
Nor  yet  on  horseback.     Ah,  how  then  ? 

It  fled  away  all  suddenly 
And  never  will  return  again. 


It's  gone,  and  I  am  left  behind, 

Poor  both  in  knowledge  and  in  wit, 

Black  as  a  berry,  drear  and  dwined, 

Coin,  land  and  goods,  gone  every  whit  ; 

126 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Whilst  those  by  kindred  to  me  knit. 
The  due  of  Nature  all  forgot, 

To  disavow  me  have  seen  fit, 
For  lack  of  pelf  to  pay  the  scot. 


Yet  have  I  not  my  substance  spent 

In  wantoning  or  gluttony 
Nor  thorow  love  incontinent  ; 

None  is  there  can  reproach  it  me, 

Except  he  rue  it  bitterly  ; 
I  say  it  in  all  soothfastness  — 

Nor  can  you  bate  me  of  this  plea  — 
Who's  done  no  wrong  should  none  confess. 


True  is  it  I  have  loved  whilere 
And  willingly  would  love  again  : 

But  aching  heart  and  paunch  that  ne'er 
Doth  half  its  complement  contain, 
The  ways  of  Love  allure  in  vain  ; 

'Deed,  none  but  those  may  play  its  game 
Whose  well-lined  belly  wags  amain  ; 

For  the  dance  comes  of  the  full  wame. 


If  in  my  time  of  youth,  alack  ! 

I  had  but  studied  and  been  sage 
Nor  wandered  from  the  beaten  track, 

I  had  slept  warm  in  my  old  age. 

127 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

But  what  did  I  ?     As  bird  from  cage, 
I  fled  the  schools  ;  and  now  with  pain, 

In  setting  down  this  on  the  page, 
My  heart  is  like  to  cleave  in  twain. 


I  have  construed  what  Solomon 
Intended,  with  too  much  largesse, 

When  that  he  said,  '  Rejoice,  my  son, 
In  thy  fair  youth  and  lustiness  :  ' 
But  elsewhere  speaks  he  otherguess  ; 

'  For  youth  and  adolescence  be  ' 

(  These  are  his  words,  nor  more  nor  less  ) 

'  But  ignorance  and  vanity.' 


Like  as  the  loose  threads  on  the  loom, 
Whenas  the  weaver  to  them  lays 

The  flaming  tow,  burn  and  consume, 
So  that  from  ragged  ends  (  Job  says  ) 
The  web  is  freed,  —  even  so  my  days 

Are  gone  a-wand'ring  past  recall. 

No  more  Fate's  buffs  nor  her  affrays 

I  fear,  for  death  assuageth  all. 


WHERE  are  the  gracious  gallants  now 
That  of  old  time  I  did  frequent, 
So  fair  of  fashion  and  of  show, 
In  song  and  speech  so  excellent  ? 

128 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Stark  dead  are  some,  their  lives  are  spent 
There  rests  of  them  nor  mark  nor  trace  : 

May  they  in  Heaven  have  content  ; 
God  keep  the  others  of  His  grace  ! 


Some,  Christ-a-mercy,  are  become 

Masters  and  lords  of  high  degree  ; 
Some  beg  all  naked  and  no  crumb 

Of  bread  save  in  some  window  see  ; 

Some,  having  put  on  monkery, 
Carthews,  Celestines  and  what  not, 

Shod,  breeched  like  oysterfishers  be 
Look  you,  how  divers  is  their  lot  ! 


God  grant  great  lords  to  do  aright,       " 

That  live  in  luxury  and  ease  ! 
We  cannot  aught  to  them  requite, 

So  will  do  well  to  hold  our  peace. 

But  to  the  poor  (  like  me  ),  that  cease 
Never  from  want,  God  patience  give  ! 

For  that  they  need  it  ;  and  not  these, 
That  have  the  wherewithal  to  live, — 


That  drink  of  noble  wines  and  eat 
Fish,  soups  and  sauces  every  day, 

Pasties  and  flawns  and  roasted  meat 
And  eggs  served  up  in  many  a  way. 

129 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Herein  from  masons  differ  they, 
That  with  such  toil  their  bread  do  earn 

These  need  no  cupbearer,  folk  say, 
For  each  one  pours  out  in  his  turn. 


TO  this  digression  I've  been  led, 
That  serves  in  nothing  my  intent. 
I  am  no  Court  empanelled 

For  quittance  or  for  punishment  : 
I  am  of  all  least  diligent. 
Praised  be  Christ  !     May  each  man's  need 

By  me  of  Him  have  full  content  ! 
That  which  is  writ  is  writ  indeed. 


So  let  that  kite  hang  on  the  wall 
And  of  more  pleasing  subjects  treat 

For  this  finds  favour  not  with  all. 
Being  wearisome  and  all  unsweet  : 
For  poverty  doth  groan  and  greet, 

Full  of  despite  and  strife  alway  ; 
Is  apt  to  say  sharp  things  in  heat 

Or  think  them,  if  it  spare  to  say. 


POOR  was  I  from  my  earliest  youth, 
Born  of  a  poor  and  humble  race  : 
My  sire  was  never  rich,  in  sooth, 
Nor  yet  his  grandfather  Erace; 

130 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Want  follows  hard  upon  our  trace 
Nor  on  my  forbears'  tombs,  1  ween, 

(  Whose  souls  the  love  of  God  embrace  ! 
Are  crowns  or  sceptres  to  be  seen. 


When  I  of  poverty  complain, 

(Jfttimes  my  heart  to  me  hath  said, 

'  Man,  wherefore  murmur  thus  in  vain  ? 
If  thou  hast  no  such  plentihead 
As  had  Jacques  Cœur,  be  comforted  : 

Better  to  live  and  rags  to  wear 

Than  to  have  been  a  lord,  and  dead, 

Rot  in  a  splendid  sepulchre.' 


(  Than  to  have  been  a  lord  !  I  say. 

Alas,  no  longer  is  he  one  ; 
As  the  Psalm  tells  of  it, —  to-day 

His  place  of  men  is  all  unknown. 

As  for  the  rest,  affair  'tis  none 
Of  mine,  that  but  a  sinner  be  : 

To  theologians  alone 
The  case  belongs,  and  not  to  me. 


For  I  am  not,  as  well  I  know. 

An  angel's  son,  that  crowned  with  light 
Among  the  starry  heavens  doth  go  : 

My  sire  is  dead  — God  have  his  spright 

x3i 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

His  body's  buried  out  of  sight. 
I  know  my  mother  too  must  die  — 

She  knows  it  too,  poor  soul,  aright  — 
And  soon  her  son  by  her  must  lie. 


I  know  full  well  that  rich  and  poor, 
Villein  and  noble,  high  and  low, 

Laymen  and  clerks,  gracious  and  dour, 
Wise  men  and  foolish,  sweet  of  show 
Or  foul  of  favour,  dames  that  go 

Ruffed  and  rebatoed,  great  or  small, 
High-tired  or  hooded,  Death  (  I  know) 

Without  exception  seizes  all. 


Paris  or  Helen  though  one  be, 

Who  dies,  in  pain  and  drearihead, 
For  lack  of  breath  and  blood  dies  he, 

His  gall  upon  his  heart  is  shed  ; 

Then  doth  he  sweat,  God  knows  how  dread 
A  sweat,  and  none  there  is  to  allay 

His  ills,  child,  kinsman,  in  his  stead, 
None  will  go  bail  for  him  that  day. 


Death  makes  him  shiver  and  turn  pale, 
Sharpens  his  nose  and  swells  his  veins, 

Puffs  up  his  throat,  makes  his  flesh  fail, 
His  joints  and  nerves  greatens  and  strains. 

132 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

■*-  Fair  women's  bodies,  soft  as  skeins 
Of  silk,  so  tender,  smooth  and  rare, 

Must  you  too  surfer  all  these  pains  ? 
Ay,  or  alive  to  heaven  fare. 


BALLAD  OF  OLD-TIME  LADIES 


r  I  "ELL  me  where,  in  what  land  of  shade, 
1  Hides  fair  Flora  of  Koine,  and  where 
Are  Thais  and  Arckipiade, 

Cousins -german  of  beauty  rare, 
And  Echo,  more  than  mortal  fair. 
Thai,  when  one  calls  by  river-flow 

Or  maris//,  answers  out  of  the  air  ? 
But  what  is  become  of  last  year's  snow  ? 


Where  did  the  learn' d  Helotsa  va  de. 

For  tvhose  sake  A  be  lard  might  not  spare 
(Such  dole  for  Im'e  on  him  was  laid) 

Manhood  to  lose  and  a  eowl  to  wear  ? 

And  where  is  the  queen  who  willed  whilere 
That  Buridan,  tied  in  a  sack,  should  go 

Floating  down  Seine  from  the  turret-stair  .' 
But  what  is  become  of  last  year's  snow  ? 

133 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Blanche,  too,  the  lily-ivhite  queen,  that  made 
Sweet  music  as  if  she  a  siren  ?uere  ; 

Broad-foot  Bertha  ;  and  Joan  the  maid, 
The  good  Lorrainer,  the  English  bare 
Captive  to  Rotten  and  burned  her  there  ; 

Beatrix,  Eretnburge,  Alys,  —  lo  ! 
Where  are  they,  Virgin  debonair? 

But  what  is  become  of  last  year's  snow? 

Envoi 

Prince,  you  may  question  how  they  fare 
This  week,  or  liefer  this  rear,  F  trenv  : 

Still  shall  the  answer  this  burden  bear, 
But  what  is  become  of  last  year's  snow  ? 


BALLAD  OF  OLD-TIME  LORDS 

(following  on  the  same  subject) 

No.  i 


1 ff 7 HERE  is  Calixtus,  third  of  the  name, 
r  V  That  died  in  the  purple  whiles  ago, 

Four  years  since  he  to  the  tiar  came  ? 

And  the  King  of  Aragon,  Alfonso  ? 

The  Duke  of  Bourbon,  sweet  of  show, 
And  the  Duke  Arthur  of  Brittaine  ? 

And  Charles  the  Seventh,  the  Good?  Heigho  ! 
But  where  is  the  doughty  Charlemaine  ? 

134 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Likewise  the  King  of  Scots,  "whose  shame 

Was  the  half  of  his  face  (or  folk  say  so), 
Vermeil  as  amethyst  held  to  the  flame, 

From  chin  to  forehead  all  of  a  glow  ? 

The  King  of  Cyprus,  of  friend  and  foe 
Renowned  :  and  the  gentle  King  of  Spain, 

Whose  name,  God  Held  me,  I  do  not  know  I 
But  where  is  the  doughty  Charlemaine? 


Of  many  more  might  I  ask  the  same, 

Who  are  but  dust  that  the  breezes  blow  ; 
But  I  desist,  for  none  may  claim 

To  stand  against  Death,  that  lays  all  low. 

Yet  one  more  question  before  I  go  : 
Where  is  Lancelot,  King  of  Behaine  ? 

And  where  are  his  valiant  ancestors,  trow  ? 
But  where  is  the  doughty  Charlemaine  ? 

Envoi 

Where  is  Du  Gucsclin,  the  Breton  prcnu  ? 

Where  Auvergne' s  Dauphin  and  where  again 
The  late  good  duke  of  Alençon  ?     Lo  ! 

But  where  is  the  doughty  Charlemaine  ? 


135 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

BALLAD  OF    OLD-TIME  LORDS 
No.  2 


7 1 7  HERE  are  the  holy  apostles  gone, 
V  r  Alb-clad  and  amice-tired  and  sloled 

With  the  sacred  tippet  and  that  alone. 
Wherewith,  when  he  waxeth  overbold, 
The  foul  fiend's  throttle  they  take  and  hold  ? 
All  must  come  to  the  self-same  bay  ; 

Sous  and  servants,  their  days  are  told  : 
The  wind  carries  their  like  away. 


Where  is  he  now  that  held  the  throne 
Of  Constantine  -with  the  hands  of  gold  ? 

And  the  King  of  France,  o'er  all  kings  knmun 
For  grace  and  worship  that  was  extolled. 
Who  convents  and  churches  manifold 

Built  for  God's  service  ?     fu  their  day 
What  of  the  honour  they  had  '     Behold, 

The  wind  carries  their  like  away. 


Where  are  the  champions  every  one. 

The  Dauphins,  the  counsellors   voting  and  old  ? 
The  /'arons  of  Salins,  Dôl,  Dijon, 

I  'nunc,  Grenoble  .?      They  all  arc  cold. 

«36 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Or  take  the  folk  under  their  banners  enrolled, — 
Pursuivants,  trumpeters,  heralds,  (key! 

I/070  they  Jed  of  the  fat  and  the  flagon  trolled  !  ) 
The  wind  carries  their  like  away. 

Envoi 

Princes  to  death  are  all  foretold 

Even  as  the  humblest  of  their  array  : 
Whether  they  sorrow  or  whether  they  scold, 
The  wind  carries  their  like  away. 


SINCE,  then,  popes,  princes  great  and  smal 
That  in  queens'  wombs  conceived  were, 
Are  dead  and  buried,  one  and  all, 

And  other  heads  their  crownals  wear, 
Shall  Death  to  smite  poor  me  forbear  ? 
Shall  I  not  die  ?     Ay,  if  God  will. 
S<>  that  of  life  I  have  my  share, 
An  honest  death  I  take  not  ill. 


Thi>  world  is  not  perpetual, 

Deem,  the  rich  robber  what  he  may  : 

Under  death's  whittle  are  we  all. 
Old  men  to  heart  this  comfort  lay. 
That  had  repute  in  their  young  day 

Of  being  quick  at  jest  and  flout, — 

Whom  folk,  if,  now  that  they  are  gray, 

They  should  crack  jokes,  as  fools  would  scout. 

X2P 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Now  haply  must  they  beg  their  bread, 
(  For  need  thereto  doth  them  constrain  ;) 

Each  day  they  wish  that  they  were  dead; 
Sorrow  so  straitens  heart  and  brain 
That,  did  not  fear  of  God  restrain, 

Some  dreadful  deed  they  might  essay  ; 
Nay,  whiles  they  take  His  law  in  vain 

And  with  themselves  they  make  away. 


For  if  in  youth  men  spoke  them  fair, 
Now  do  they  nothing  that  is  right; 

(  Old  apes,  alas  !  ne'er  pleasing  were; 
No  trick  of  theirs  but  brings  despite.) 
If  they  are  dumb,  for  fear  of  slight, 

Folk  them  for  worn-out  dotards  hold  ; 
Speak  they,  their  silence  folk  invite, 

Saying  they  pay  with  others'  gold. 


So  with  poor  women  that  are  old 
And  have  no  vivers  in  the  chest, 

When  that  young  wenches  they  behold 
Fare  at  their  ease  and  well  addrest, 
They  ask  God  why  before  the  rest 

Themselves  were  born.     They  cry  and  shout 
God  answers  not  ;  for  second-best 

He'd  come  off  at  a  scolding-bout. 


138 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

THE     COMPLAINT    OF     THE    FAIR    HELM- 
MAKER  GROWN    OLD 


Methought  1  lie  aril  the   fan-  complain 
—  The  fair  that  erst  was  helm  maker 

And  wish  herself  a  girl  again. 
After  this  fashion  did  I  hear  : 
'  Alack  !  old  age,  felon  and  drear, 

Why  hast  so  early  laid  me  low  ? 
What  hinders  but  I  slay  me  here 

And  so  at  one  stroke  end  my  woe  ? 


'  Thon  hast  undone  the  mighty  thrall 
In  which  my  beauty  held  for  me 

Clerks,  merchants,  churchmen,  one  and  all: 
For  never  man  my  face  might  see, 
But  would  have  given  his  all  for  fee, — 

Without  a  thought  of  his  abuse, — 
So  I  should  yield  him  at  his  gree 

What  churls  for  nothing  now  refuse. 


'  I  did  to  many  me  deny 

(  Therein  /  showed  but  little  guile  ) 
For  love  of  one  right  false  and  sly. 

Whom  "without  stint  /  loved  erewhilc. 

139 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Whomever  else  I  might  bewile, 
I  loved  him  ?ue/l,  sorry  or  glad  : 

But  he  to  me  was  harsh  and  vile 
And  loved  me  but  for  what  I  had. 


'  III  as  he  used  me,  and  however 

I  rnkind,  /  loved  him  none  the  less  : 

Even  had  he  made  me  faggot  s  bear, 
One  kiss  from  him  or  one  caress, 
And  fforgot  my  every  stress. 

The  rogue  !  "'twas  ever  thus  the  same 
With  him.     It  brought  me  scant  liesse . 

And  what  is  left  me  ?     Sin  and  shame. 


'  Now  is  he  dead  this  thirty  year, 

And  I'm  grown  old  and  -worn  and  gray  . 
When  I  recall  the  days  that  were 

And  think  of  what  I am  to-day 

And  when  me  naked  I  survey 
And  see  my  body  shrunk  to  nought, 

Withered  and  sli rive/led, —  tvellaiuay  ! 
For  grief  I  am  well-nigh  distraught. 


'  Where  is  that  clear  and  crystal  brow  I 
Those  eyebrows  arched  and  golden  hair  I 

And  those  bright  eyes,  -where  are  they  now, 
Wherewith  the  wisest  ravished  were  ? 

140 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

The  little  nose  so  straight  and fair  : 
The  tiny  tender  perfect  ear  : 

Where  is  the  dimpled  chin  and  where 
The  pouting  lips  so  red  and  clear  ? 


'  The  shoulders  gent  and  strait  and  small  : 

Round  arms  and  white  hands  delicate  : 
The  little  pointed  breasts  withal  ; 

The  haunches  plump  and  high  and  straight, 
Right  fit  for  amorous  debate  ; 
Wide  hips  *  *  * 


'  Brows  "wrinkled  sore  and  tresses  gray  : 
The  brows  all  fair  u  and  dim  the  eyne 

That  wont  to  charm  men's  hearts  away  : 
The  nose,  that  was  so  straight  and  fine, 
Now  bent  and  swerved  from  beauty's  line  ; 

Chin  peaked,  ears  furred  and  hanging  down 
Faded  the  face  and  ijiicin  hed  its  shine 

And  lips  mere  bags  of  loose  skin  grown. 


'  Such  is  the  end  oj  human  grace  : 

The  arms  grown  short  and  hands  all  thrown 
The  shoulders  bowed  out  of  their  place  ; 

The  breasts  all  shrivelled  up  and  gone  ; 

141 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

The  /launches  like  the  paps  withdrawn  : 
The  thighs  no  longer  like  to  thighs, 
Withered  and  mottled  all  like  brawn, 


'  And  so  the  litany  goes  round. 
Lamenting  the  good  time  gone  by, 

Among  ns  crouched  upon  the  ground, 
Poor  silly  hags,  to- huddled  by 
A  scanty  fire  of  hempstalks  dry, 

Kindled  in  haste  and  soon  gone  out  : 
(  We  that  once  held  our  heads  so  high  :  J 

So  all  ta  he  turn  a  nil  turn  about? 


THE     DOCTRINE     OF     THE     FAIR     HELM- 
MAKER  TO  THE    LIGHT  O'  LOVES 


Now  think  ond,  .Yell  the  glover  fair, 
That  wont  my  scholar  once  to  be, 

And  you,  Blanche  Slippermdker  there, 
Your  ease  in  mine  Td  have  you  see  : 
I  ook  all  to  right  and  left  take  ye  : 

Forbear  no  man  :  for  trulls  that  bin 
Old  have  nor  course  nor  currency, 

No  more  than  money  that's  «ailed  in. 

142 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

11 
You,  Sausage-hue kstr ess  debonair, 

That  dance  and  trip  it  brisk  and  free, 
And  Guillemette  Upholstress,  there, 

Look  you  transgress  not  Love's  decree  : 

Soon  must  you  shut  up  shop,  perdie  ; 
Soon  old  y  mill  grow,  faded  and  thin, 

Worth,  like  some  old  priest'1  s  visnomy, 
No  more  than  money  that's  called  in. 

m 
Jennie  the  hatter,  have  a  care 

Lest  some  false  lover  hamper  thee  ; 
And  Kitty  Spurmaker,  beware  ; 

Deny  no  man  that  proffers  fee  : 

for  girls  that  are  not  bright  o'  blee 
Men's  scorn  and  not  their  service  win  : 

Foul  eld  gets  neither  love  nor  grec, 
No  more  than  money  that's  called  in. 

Envoi 

Wenches,  give  ear  and  list  (quo''  she ) 
Wherefore  /weep  and  make  this  din  : 

'  Tis  that  there  is  no  kelp  for  me, 

No  more  than  money  that's  called  in. 

XLVII 

THIS  lesson  unto  them  gives  slit-. 
The  bellibone  of  days  gone  by. 
Ill  said  or  well,  worth  what  they  be, 
These  things  enregistered  have  I 

143 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

By  my  clerk  Fremiti  (  giddy  fry  !  ), 
Being  as  composed  as  well  I  may. 

I  curse  him  if  he  make  me  lie  : 
Like  clerk,  like  master,  people  say. 


Nay,  the  great  danger  well  I  see 
Wherein  a  man  in  love  doth  fall  .   . 

Suppose  that  some  lay  blame  on  me 
For  this  speech,  saying,  '  Listen,  all 
If  this  do  make  you  love  miscall, 

The  tricks  of  wantons  named  above, 
Your  doubts  are  too  chimerical, 

For  these  are  women  light  o'  love. 


'  For  if  they  love  not  but  for  gain, 
Folk  do  but  love  them  for  a  day  ; 

In  sooth,  they  roundly  love  all  men, 

And  when  purse  weeps,  then  are  they  gay 
Not  one  but  questeth  after  prey. 

But  honest  men,  so  God  me  spare, 
With  honest  women  will  alway 

Have  dealing,  and  not  otherwhere.' 


I  put  it  that  one  thus  devise  : 
He  doth  in  nothing  me  gainsay  ; 

In  sooth,  I  think  no  otherwise, 

And  well  I  ween  that  one  should  aye 

144 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

In  worthy  place  love's  homage  pay. 
But  were  not  these,  of  whom  I  rhyme 

(  God  wot  )  and  reason  all  the  day, 
Once  honest  women  aforetime  ? 


Aye,  they  were  honest,  in  good  sooth, 
Without  reproach  or  any  blame  ; 

But,  in  her  first  and  prime  of  youth, 
Ere  she  had  loren  her  good  name, 
Each  of  these  women  thought  no  shame 

To  take  some  man  for  her  desire, 

Laic  or  clerk,  to  quench  love's  flame, 

That  burns  worse  than  St.  Anthony's  fire. 


Of  these,  as  Love  ordains,  they  made 

Their  lovers,  as  appeareth  well  : 
Each  loved  her  gallant  in  the  shade 

And  none  else  had  with  her  to  mell. 

But  this  first  love's  not  durable  ; 
For  she,  that  loved  but  one  erewhen, 

Soon  tires  of  him  to  her  that  fell 
And  sets  herself  to  love  all  men. 


What  moves  them  thus  ?     I  do  opine, 
Without  their  honour  gainsaying, 

That  'tis  their  nature  feminine, 

Which  tends  to  cherish  everything  :" 

'45 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

No  other  reason  with  the  thing 
Will  rhyme,  but  if  this  saw  it  be, 

That  everywhere  folk  say  and  sing: 
Six  workmen  do  more  work  than  three. 


The  shuttlecock  light  lovers  be  ; 

Their  ladie-loves  the  battledore. 
This  is  love's  way  in  verity  : 

Spite  c  1  ips  and  kisses,  evermore 
^By  constancy  it  sets  small  store. 
For  everyone  this  wise  complains 

Of  dogs  and  horses,  love  and  war  : 
Each  pleasure's  bought  with  fifty  pains. 


DOUBLE  BALLAD  TO   THE  LIKE  PURPORT 


Serve  lorw  and  ladies  day  and  night., 
Frequenting  feasts  and  revelries  : 

You'll  get  nor  profit  nor  delight, 
But  only  broken  heads  and  sighs  : 
Light  loves  make  asses  of  the  wise, 

As  witness  Solomon,  God  700/  ; 
And  Samson  thereby  lost  his  eyes. 

Happy  is  he  who  knows  them  not. 


146 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Orpheus,  the  minstrel  fair  and  wight, 

That  fluted  in  such  dulcet  guise, 
Did  hardly  'scape  the  deadly  bite 

Of  Cerberus,  in  love's  emprize  ; 

Narcissus  did  so  idolize 
His  071IU  fair  favour,  that  (poor  sot ) 

He  drowned  himself,  as  none  denies. 
Happy  is  he  who  knows  them  not. 


Sardinia  also,  the  good  knight, 

That  conquered  (  'reté,  did  disguise 

Him  as  a  wench  and  so  bed i g  lit. 

Span  among  maids  ;  and  on  like  wise 
David  the  king,  for  pallia rdize, 

The  fear  of  God  awhile  forgot 

At  sight  of  white  well-shapen  thighs. 

Happy  is  he  who  knows  them  not. 


And  David's  sou,  that  Ammon  hight, 
Deflowered  his  sister,  for  with  lies, 

Feigning  desire  for  manchets  white, 
Incest  most  foul  he  did  devise  : 
And  Herod  (history  testifies) 

Paid  with  John  Baptist's  head  the  seot 
Tor  a  girl's  dancing  deviltries. 

Happy  is  he  who  knows  them  not. 

•47 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


And  even  I,  poor  silly  wight, 
Was  beaten  as  linen  is  finit  lies 

Ju  washers'  tubs  for  bats  to  smite  ; 
And  who  gat  me  this  sour  surprise 
But  Vaucel's  Kate,  t/ie  cockatrice  ? 

And  Noël,  too,  his  good  share  got 
Of  cuffs  at  those  festivities. 

Happy  is  he  who  knows  them  not. 


And  yet  before  a  young  man  might 

He  brought  to  leave  this  merchandise, 
Well  might  you  burn  him  bolt  upright, 

Witch-like  that  on  a  besom  flies. 

Above  all,  wenches  </o/h  he  prize  : 
lUit  there's  no  trusting  them  a  jot  ; 

Blonde  or  brunette,  this  r h  vine  applies, 
Happy  is  he  who  knows  them  not. 


.ï  F  she  whom  I  did  serve  of  old 
1      So  whole  of  heart  and  loyally, 
For  whom  I  wasted  years  and  gold 
And  only  won  much  misery,  - — 
If  she  at  first  had  told  to  me 
(  But  no,  alas  !  )  her  true  intent, 

I  had  essayed  assuredly 
To  cast  off  my  entanglement. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Whatever  I  to  her  would  say 
She  always  ready  was  to  hear 

Nor  ever  said  me  ay  or  nay  ; 

Nay  more,  she  suffered  me  draw  near. 
Sit  close  and  whisper  in  her  ear, 

And  so  with  me  played  fast  and  loose 
And  let  me  tell  my  all  to  her, 

Intending  only  my  abuse. 


She  fooled  me,  being  in  her  power; 

For  she  did  make  me  think,  alas  ! 
That  one  was  other,  ashes  flour, 

That  a  felt  hat  a  mortar  was  ; 

Of  rusty  iron,  that  'twas  brass  ; 
Of  double  ace,  that  it  was  trey. 

So  would  she  make  a  man  an  ass 
And  lead  him  by  the  nose  alway. 


On  this  wise  did  she  me  persuade, 

Till  heaven  a  brazen  canopy, 
The  clouds  of  calfskin  to  be  made 

And  morning  evening  seemed  to  be  ; 

111  beer  new  wine,  a  hank  of  three 
A  halter,  navews  cabbage-plant, 

A  sow  a  windmill  was  for  me 
And  a  fat  priest  a  pursuivant. 

•49 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


THUS  Love  hath  wrought  me  to  deceive 
And  bandied  me  from  cold  to  hot  : 
There  is  no  man,  I  do  believe, 
Were  he  as  cunning  as  I'm  not, 
But  he  would  leave  with  Love  for  scot 
Pourpoint  and  hose,  and  fare  as  I, 

That  everywhere  am  called,  God  wot, 
The  lover  flouted  and  laid  by. 


Love  now  and  wenches  I  forswear  ; 

War  to  the  knife  to  them  I  mete  ; 
For  death  (  and  not  a  rap  they  care  ) 

Through  them  treads  hard  upon  my  feet. 

I've  put  my  lute  beneath  the  seat  ; 
Lovers  no  longer  I'll  ensue  : 

If  ever  I  with  them  did  treat, 
I'm  none  henceforward  of  their  crew. 


'Gainst  Love  my  standard  I've  unfurled; 

Let  those  that  love  him  follow  still  ; 
I'm  his  no  longer  in  this  world  ; 

P'or  I  intend  to  do  my  will. 

Wherefore  if  any  take  it  ill 
That  I  Love  venture  to  impeach, 

Let  this  content  him,  will  or  nill. 
'  A  dying  man  is  free  of  speech.' 

150 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


1FEEL  the  droughts  of  death  draw  nigh 
Gobbets  of  phlegm,  as  white  as  snow 
And  big  as  tennis-balls,  spit  I  ; 
By  token  Jehanneton  no  mo' 
Doth  me  for  squire  and  servant  owe, 
But  for  a  worn-out  rook.     Ah,  well  1 
I  have  the  voice  and  air,  I  know  ; 
Yet  am  I  but  a  cockerel. 


Thanks  be  to  God  and  Jacques  Thibault, 

Who  made  me  drink  of  water  cold 
So  much  within  a  dungeon  low 

And  also  chew  gags  manifold. 

When  on  these  things  I  think  of  old, 
I  pray  for  him,  ...  et  reliqua  ; 

God  give  him  .   .  .  what  at  heart  I  hold 
To  be  his  due  ...  et  caetera. 


Yet  do  I  mean  no  ill  to  him 

Or  his  lieutenant  ;  nought  but  well 
Of  his  official  eke  I  deem, 

Who's  merry  and  conformable. 

Nor  with  the  rest  have  I  to  mell, 
Save  Master  Robert  .  .  .  Great  and  small, 

As  God  loves  Lombards,  sooth  to  tell, 
I  love  the  whole  lot,  one  and  all. 

'5' 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


I   DO  remember  (.so  God  please) 
In  the  year  '56  I  made, 
Departing,  sundry  legacies, 

That  some  without  my  leave  or  aid 
To  call  my  Testament  essayed. 
(  Their  pleasure  'twas,  and  theirs  alone. 
Rut  what  ?     Is't  not  in  common  said 
That  none  is  master  of  his  own  ?  ) 


And  should  it  happen  that  of  these 

Some  peradventure  be  unpaid, 
I  order,  after  my  decease, 

That  of  my  heirs  demand  be  made. 

Who  are  they  ?     If  it  should  be  said 
To  Moreau,  Provins  and  Turgis 

By  letters  sealed  I  have  conveyed 
Even  to  the  mattress  under  me. 


Towards  the  Bastard  de  la  Barre 
Compassion  still  at  heart  I  bear. 

Beside  his  straw,  (  and  these  words  are 
His  old  bequest,  though  more  it  were, 
Not  to  revoke)  1  do  declare 

I  give  him  my  old  mats  for  seat  : 

Well  will  they  serve  him  to  sit  square 

And  keep  him  steady  on  his  feet. 

152 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


In  fine,  but  one  more  word  I'll  say 
Or  ever  I  begin  to  test  : 

Before  my  clerk,  who  hears  alway 
(  If  he's  awake),  I  do  protest 
That  knowingly  I  have  opprest 

No  man  in  this  my  ordinance  : 
Nor  will  I  make  it  manifest 

Except  unto  the  realm  of  France. 


I  feel  my  heart  that's  growing  dead 

Nor  breath  for  further  prate  have  I. 
Fremin,  sit  down  close  to  my  bed, 

And  look  that  no  one  us  espy. 

Take  pen,  ink,  paper,  by  and  by 
And  what  I  say  write  thou  therein  ; 

Then  have  it  copied  far  and  nigh  : 
And  this  is  how  I  do  begin. 


)m  btginnxl^  ©illon  to  test 


In  the  eternal  Father's  name 

And  His  that's  present  in  the  Host, 

One  with  the  Father  and  the  same. 
Together  with  the  Holy  Ghost, — 

153 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

[By  whom  was  saved  what  Adam  lost, 
And  in  the  light  of  heaven  arrayed, 

(  Who  best  believes  this  merits  most,  ) 
Dead  sinners  little  gods  were  made  : 


Dead  were  they,  body  and  soul  as  well, 

Doomed  to  eternal  punishment  : 
Flesh  rotted,  soul  in  flames  of  hell, 

What  way  soe'er  their  lives  were  spent. 

But  I  except,  in  my  intent, 
Prophets  and  Patriarchs  all  and  sheer  : 

Meseems  they  never  could  have  brent 
With  over-muckle  heat  arear. 


If  any  ask,  '  What  maketh  thee 

With  questions  such  as  this  to  mell. 

That  art  not  of  theology 

Doctor,  or  therein  capable  ?  ' 
'Tis  Jesus  His  own  parable, 

Touching  the  rich  man  that  did  lie, 
Buried  in  burning  flames  of  hell, 

And  saw  the  leper  in  the  sky. 

LXXIII 

If  he  had  seen  the  lazar  burn. 

He  had  not  asked  him,  well  I  wot, 

To  give  him  water  or  in  turn 

To  cool  his  dry  and  parched  throat. 

154 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

There  folk  will  have  a  scurvy  lot 
That  to  buy  drink  their  hosen  sell  ; 

Since  drink  is  there  so  hardly  got, 
God  save  us  all  from  thirst  in  hell  !  ] 


Now,  in  God's  name  and  with  His  aid 

And  in  our  Lady's  name  no  less, 
Let  without  sin  this  say  be  said 

By  me  grown  haggard  for  duresse. 

If  I  nor  light  nor  fire  possess, 
God  hath  ordained  it  for  my  sin  ; 

But  as  to  this  and  other  stress 
I  will  leave  talking  and  begin. 


First,  my  poor  soul  (  which  God  befriend 

Unto  the  blessed  Trinity 
And  to  our  Lady  I  commend, 

The  fountain  of  Divinity, 

Beseeching  all  the  charity 
Of  the  nine  orders  of  the  sky, 

That  it  of  them  transported  be 
Unto  the  throne  of  God  most  high. 


Item,  my  body  I  ordain 

I'nto  the  earth,  our  grandmother: 
Thereof  the  worms  will  have  small  gain  ; 

Hunger  hath  worn  it  many  a  year. 

'55 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Let  it  be  given  straight  to  her  ; 
From  earth  it  came,  to  earth  apace 

Returns  ;  all  things,  except  I  err, 
Do  gladly  turn  to  their  own  place. 


Item,  to  Guillaume  de  Villon, — 
(  My  more  than  father,  who  indeed 

To  me  more  tenderness  hath  shown 
Than  mothers  to  the  babes  they  feed, 
Who  me  from  many  a  scrape  hath  freed 

And  now  of  me  hath  scant  liesse,  — 
I  do  entreat  him,  bended-kneed, 

He  leave  me  to  my  present  stress,  —  ) 


I  do  bequeath  my  library,  — 

The  "  Devil's  Crake  "  Romaunt,  whilere 
By  Messire  Guy  de  Tabarie,  — 

A  right  trustworthy  man,  —  writ  fair. 

Beneath  a  bench  it  lies  somewhere, 
In  quires.     Though  crudely  it  be  writ, 

The  matter's  so  beyond  compare 
That  it  redeems  the  style  of  it. 


I  give  the  ballad  following 

To  my  good  mother,  —  who  of  me 

(  God  knows  !  )  hath  had  much  sorrowing, 
That  she  may  worship  our  Eadie  : 

>56 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

I  have  none  other  sanctuary 
Whereto,  when  overcome  with  dole, 

I  may  for  help  and  comfort  flee  ; 
Nor  hath  my  mother,  poor  good  soul  ! 


BALLAD    THAT     VILLON     MADE    AT    THE 
REQUEST    OF    HIS    MOTHER,    WHERE- 
WITHAL     TO      DO      HER     HOMAGE 
TO  OUR  LADY 


Lady  of  Heaven,  Regent  of  the  ear///, 

Empress  of  all  the  infernal  marshes  fell, 

Receive  me,  Thy  poor  Christian,  'spite  my  dearth, 
In  the  fair  midst  of  Thine  elect  to  dwell  : 
Albeit  my  lack  of  grace  I  know  full  well  : 

Tor  that  Thy  grace,  my  Lady  and  my  Queen, 

Aboundeth  more  than  all  my  misdemean, 
Withonten  which  no  sont  of  all  that  sigh 

May  merit  Heaven.      '  Tis  sooth  /  say,  for  e'en 
In  this  belief  I  will  to  live  and  die. 


Say  to  Thy  Son  L  am  /Lis,  —  that  by  His  birth 
And  death  my  sins  be  all  redeemable,  — 

As  Mary  if  Egypt 's  dole  He  changed  to  mirth 
And  eke  Theophilus',  to  whom  befell 
Quittance  of  Thee,  albeit  (so  men  tell ) 

157 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

To  the  foul  fiend  he  had  eon  tine  ted  been. 
Assoilzie  me,  that  1  may  have  no  teen, 

Maid,  that  without  breach  of  virginity 
Didst  bear  our  Lord  that  in' the  Host  is  seen. 

In  this  belief  I  will  to  live  and  die. 


A  poor  old  wife  I  am,  and  little  worth  : 

Nothing  J  know,  nor  letter  aye  could  spell  : 

Where  in  the  church  to  worship  J  fare  forth, 
I  see  Heaven  limned,  with  harps  and  lutes,  and  //ell, 
Where  damned  folk  seethe  in  fire  unquenchable. 

One  doth  me  fear,  the  other  joy  serene  : 

Grant  /mar  have  the  joy,  0  Virgin  clean, 

To  whom  all  sinners  lift  their  hands  on  high, 

Made  whole  in  faith  through   Thee  their  go  between. 
In  this  belief  I  will  to  live  and  die. 


Envoi 

Thou  didst  conceive,  Princess  most  bright  of  sheen, 
fesus  the  Lord,  that  hath  nor  end  nor  mean. 
Almighty,  that,  departing  Heaven  i  demesne 

To  succour  us,  put  on  our  frailty. 
Offering  to  death  //is  sweet  of  youth  and  green  : 
Such  as  He  is,  our  Lord  He  is,  /  ween  ! 
In  this  belief  I  will  to  live  and  die. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  upon  my  dearest  Rose 
Nor  heart  nor  liver  I  bestow  : 

Thereat  she  would  turn  up  her  nose, 
Albeit  she  hath  coin  eno',  — 
A  great  silk  purse,  as  well  I  know, 

Stuffed  full  of  crowns,  both  new  and  old. 
May  he  be  hanged,  or  high  or  low, 

That  leaves  her  silver  aught  or  gold  ! 


For  she  without  me  has  enow  : 
To  me  it  matters  not  a  jot  : 

My  salad  days  are  past,  I  trow  ; 
No  more  desire  in  me  is  hot  : 
All  that  I  leave  unto  Michot, 

That  was  surnamed  the  good  gallant 
Or  rather  to  his  heirs  ;  God  wot, 

At  St.  Satur  his  tomb's  extant. 


This  notwithstanding,  to  acquit 

Me  toward  Love  rather  than  her, 
(  For  never  had  I  any  whit 

Of  hope  from  her  :  I  cannot  hear,  <— ' 

Nor  do  I  care,  if  a  deaf  ear 
To  all  she  turns  as  well  as  me  ; 

But  by  Saint  Maudlin  I  aver, 
Therein  but  laughing  stuff  I  see.) 

159 


< 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


This  ballad  shall  she  have  of  me, 

That  all  with  rhymes  in  R  doth  end  : 

Who  shall  be  bearer?     Let  me  see  : 
Pernet  the  Bastard  I  will  send, 
Provided,  if,  as  he  doth  wend, 

He  come  across  my  pugnosed  frow, 
This  question  he  to  her  commend  ; 

'  Foul  wanton,  wherefrom  comest  thou  ? 


BALLAD  OF  VILLON  TO  HIS  MISTRESS 


False  beauty,  that  hast  cost  me  many  a  sigh  ; 

Fair-seeming  siveetness  in  effect  how  sour  ; 
Love-liking,  harder  far  than  steel,  that  J 

May  sister  name  of  my  defeasance  Jour  : 

Traitorous  charms,  that  did  my  heart  devour 
Pride,  that  puts  folk  to  death  with  secret  scorn  ; 

Pitiless  eves,  will  rigour  ne'er  allow  her, 
Ere  worse  betide,  to  succour  one  forlorn  ? 


Well  were  it  for  me  elsewhere  to  apply 
For  succour  :  well  /  know  that  in  her  bower 

The  load  of  love  J  never  shall  lay  by  : 
Sure  'twere  no  shame  to  fly  from  such  a  stoure. 

1 60 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Haro  !  I  cry  —  both  great  and  small  implore. 
But  what  avails  me  ?     J  shall  die  outworn, 

Without  blow  struck,  excepting  pity  bow  her. 
Ere  worse  betide,  to  succour  one  forlorn. 


A  time  will  come  to  wither  and  make  dry. 

Yellow  and  pale,  thy  beauty's  full-blown  flower 

The//  should  I  laugh,  if  yet  my  heart  were  high. 
But  no,  alas  !     /  then  shall  have  no  power 
To  laugh,  being  old  in  that  disastrous  hour. 

Wherefore  drink  deep,  before  the  river's  frorue  ; 
Neither  refuse,  whilst  grace  is  still  thy  dower. 

Ere  worse  betide,  to  succour  one  forlorn. 

Envoi 

Great  God  of  Love,  all  lovers'  governour, 
III  falleth  thy  disfavour  to  be  borne  : 

True  hearts  arc  bound,  by  Christ  our  Saviour, 
Ere  worse  betide,  to  succour  one  forlorn. 


Item,  to  Master  Ythier, 

To  whom  I  left  my  sword  of  yore, 
I  give  (to  set  to  song)  this  lay, 

Containing  verses  half  a  score  ; 

Being  a  De  profundis  for 
His  love  of  once  upon  a  day  : 

Her  name  I  must  not  tell  you,  or 
He'd  hate  me  like  the  deuce  alway. 

161 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


LAY  OR  RATHER  ROUNDEL 

Death,  of  thy  rigour  I  complain, 
That  hast  my  lady  torn  from  we 
And  wilt  not  yet  contented  be, 
Save  from  me  too  all  strength  be  ta'en, 
For  languishment  of  heart  and  brain. 
What  harm  did  she  in  life  to  thee, 
Death  ? 


One  heart  we  had  betwixt  us  twain  ; 
Which  being  dead,  J  too  must  dree 
Death,  or,  like  carven  saints  we  see 

I>i  choir,  sans  life  to  live  be  fain, 
Death  ! 


Item,  a  new  bequest  I  will 

To  make  to  Master  Jehan  Cornu  ; 
Who  in  my  need  hath  helped  me  still 

And  done  me  favours  not  a  few  ; 

Wherefore  the  garden  him  unto 
I  give  that  Peter  Bobignon 

Leased  me,  so  but  he  hang  anew 
The  door  and  fix  the  gable  on. 

162 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


I  there  did  lose,  for  lack  of  door, 

A  hone  and  handle  of  a  hoe  : 
Thenceforward,  falcons  half  a  score 

Had  not  there  caught  a  lark,  I  trow. 

The  hostel's  safe,  but  keep  it  so. 
I  put  a  hook  there  in  sign-stead  : 

God  grant  the  robber  nought  but  woe, 
A  bloody  night  and  earthen  bed  ! 


Item,  considering  that  the  wife 
Of  Master  Peter  St.  Amant 

(  Yet  if  therein  be  blame  or  strife, 
God  grant  her  grace  and  benison  ) 
Me  as  a  beggar  looks  upon, 

For  the  White  Horse  that  will  not  stir, 
A  Mare,  and  for  the  Mule,  anon, 

A  Brick-red  Ass  I  give  to  her. 

LXXXVIII 

Item,  I  give  unto  Denis 

(  Elect  of  Paris  )  Hesselin, 
Of  wine  of  Aulnis,  from  Turgis 

Taken  at  my  peril,  casks  fourteen. 

If  he  to  drink  too  much  begin, 
That  so  his  wit  and  sense  decline, 

Let  them  put  water  therewithin  : 
Many  a  good  house  is  lost  by  wine. 

.63 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  upon  my  advocate, 

Whose  name  is  Guillaume  Charriau,  — 
Though  he's  a  chapman  by  estate, 

My  sword,  (without  the  scabbard,  though,) 

And  a  gold  royal  I  bestow, 
In  sous,  to  swell  his  purse's  space, 

Levied  on  those  that  come  and  go 
Within  the  Temple  cloister  place. 


Item,  my  proctor  Fournier 

Shall  handfuls  four  —  for  all  his  pain 
And  travail  for  me  night  and  day, — 

Have  from  my  purse  ;  for  suits  amain 

He  hath  ywrought  to  gar  me  gain,  — 
Just  ones,  by  Jesus  be  it  said  ! 

Even  as  the  judgment  did  ordain  : 
The  best  of  rights  has  need  of  aid. 


Item,  to  Jamy  Raguyer 

The  Muckle  Mug  in  Grève  give  I, 
Provided  always  that  he  pay 

Four  placks  for  livery  of  it  ;  ay, 

Even  though  what  covers  calf  and  thigh 
To  make  the  money  up  sell  he 

And  fare  each  morn  bare-legged  thereby 
Unto  the  Fir-cone  Hostelry. 

164 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  for  Mairebeuf  (  I  vow  ) 
And  Nicholas  de  Louviers, 

I  give  them  neither  ox  nor  cow, 
For  drovers  neither  herds  are  they, 
But  folk  that  ride  a-hawking  may, 

(Think  not  I'm  making  mock  of  you) 
Partridge  and  plover  night  and  day 

To  fake  from  Mother  Maschicoue. 


Item,  if  Turgis  come  to  me, 

I'll  pay  him  fairly  for  his  wine  : 
But  soft  ;  if  where  I  lodge  find  he, 

He'll  have  more  wit  than  any  nine. 

I  leave  to  him  that  vote  of  mine, 
As  citizen  of  Paris  see  : 

If  sometimes  I  speak  Poitevine, 
Two  Poitou  ladies  taught  it  me. 


Damsels  they  were,  both  fair  and  free, 

Abiding  at  St.  Generou, 
Hard  by  St.  Julian  of  Brittany 

Or  in  the  Marches  of  Poitou. 

Natheless,  I  tell  you  not  for  true 
Where  all  their  days  and  nights  they  dwell: 

I  am  not  fool  enough,  look  you, 
My  loves  to  all  the  world  to  tell. 

>65 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  Jehan  Raguyer  I  give 

(  That's  Sergeant,  —  of  the  Twelve,  indeed 
Each  day,  so  long  as  he  shall  live, 

A  ramakin,  that  he  may  feed 

Thereon  and  stay  his  stomach's  need; 
(  From  Bailly's  table  be  it  brought  ). 

Let  him  not  ask  for  wine  or  mead, 
But  at  the  fountain  quench  his  drought. 


Item,  I  give  the  Prince  of  Fools 

A  Master-fool,  Michault  du  Four, 
The  jolliest  jester  in  the  Schools, 

That  sings  so  well  '  Ma  douce  amour. 

With  that  of  him  I'll  speak  no  more. 
Brief,  if  he's  but  in  vein  some  jot, 

He's  a  right  royal  fool,  be  sure, 
And  still  is  witty,  where  he's  not. 


Item,  I  give  unto  a  pair 

Of  sergeants  here  whose  names  I've  set- 
For  that  they're  honest  folk  and  fair  — 

Denis  Richer  and  Jehan  Vallette, 

A  tippet  each  or  bandelet, 
To  hang  their  hats  of  felt  unto  ; 

I  meanyW/sergeants,  for  as  yet 
Nought  with  the  horse  have  I  to  do. 

1 66 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  to  Fernet  I  remit 

For  that  he  is  a  cogging  jack, 

(  The  Bastard  of  La  Barre,  to  wit,) 
Three  loaded  dice  or  else  a  pack 
Of  cheating  cards,  marked  on  the  back, 

To  arms,  in  lieu  of  bend.     But  what  ? 
If  he  be  heard  to  fyst  or  crack, 

The  quartan  ague  catch  the  sot  ! 


Item,  I  order  that  Chollet 

No  longer  hoop  or  saw  or  plane 

Or  head  up  barrels  all  the  day. 

Let  him  his  tools  change  for  a  cane 

(  Or  Lyons  sword  ),  so  he  retain 

The  cooper's  mall;  for,  sooth  to  tell, 

Though  noise  and  strife  to  hate  he  feign, 

At  heart  he  loves  them  but  too  well. 


Item,  I  give  to  Jehan  le  Loup  — 

For  that  he's  lean  and  lank  and  spent, 
(Though  good-cheap  man  and  comrade  true) 

And  Chollet  too,  is  slow  of  scent, 

A  setter,  young,  but  excellent, 
(  No  chick  he'll  miss  afield,  I  trow  ) 

And  a  long  cloak,  'gainst  'spial  meant 
To  cover  them  from  top  to  toe. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  to  Duboys,  goldworker, 

An  hundred  cloves,  both  head  and  tail, 
Of  Saracenic  zinziber  ; 

Not  cases  therewithal  to  nail 


To  Captain  Riou,  as  a  treat 

For  him  and  for  his  archers  too, 

I  give  six  wolvis-heads  (  a  meat 

No  swineherds'  fare  that  is,  look  you  ) 
Coursed  with  great  dogs  and  set  to  stew 

In  tavern  wine.     In  sooth,  to  feed 
Upon  these  dainties  rare  and  new, 

One  might  do  many  an  ill  deed. 


'Tis  meat  a  trifle  heavier 

Than  either  feathers,  cork  or  down  : 
For  folk  afield  'tis  famous  fare, 

In  camp  or  leaguer  of  a  town. 

But  (failing  dogs  to  hunting  boun  ) 
An  if  the  beasts  in  trap  be  ta'en, 

The  skins,  to  fur  his  winter  gown, 
As  a  right  tanner,  I  ordain. 

1 68 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  to  Robinet  Troussecaille 

(  Who's  thriven  rarely  in  his  trade; 

He  scorns  to  go  afoot  like  quail, 
But  sits  a  fat  roan  stoutly  made) 
My  platter,  that  he  is  afraid 

To  borrow,  I  on  him  bestow  ; 
So  will  he  now  be  all  arrayed  : 

He  needed  nothing  else,  I  know. 


To  Perrot  Girard  I  will  well 

(  That's  barber  sworn  at  Bourg  la  Reine) 
Two  basins  and  a  fish-kettle, 

Since  he's  so  eager  after  gain. 

Six  years  ago,  the  man  was  fain 
For  seven  whole  days  (  God  have  his  soul  !  ) 

Me  with  fat  porkers  to  sustain  ; 
Witness  the  Abbess  of  Shaven-poll. 


Item,  unto  the  Begging  Frères, 
The  Devotees  and  the  Béguines, 

At  Paris,  Orleans  and  elsewhere, 
Both  Turpelins  and  Turpelines, — 
Of  stout  meat  soups  with  flawns  beseen 

I  make  oblation.  *  * 


169 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


NAY,  'tis  not  I  that  give  them  this; 
But  from  their  loins  all  children  spring 
Through  God  that  guerdons  them  ywis 
For  their  much  swink  and  travailing. 
Each  one  of  them  must  live,  poor  thing, — 
E'en  monks  of  Paris,  if  they  go 

Our  cummers  still  a-pleasuring, 
God  wot,  they  love  their  husbands  so. 


Whatever  Master  Jehan  Poullieu 

Missaid  of  them,  et  reliqua, 
Constrained  in  public  place  thereto, 

His  words  perforce  he  did  unsay  : 

Meung  of  their  fashion  in  his  day 
Made  mock,  and  Matheolus  too  : 

But  honour  unto  that  alway 
Which  God's  Church  honoureth  is  due. 


So  I  submit  me,  for  my  part, 

In  all  that  I  can  do  or  say, 
To  honour  them  with  all  my  heart 

And  yield  them  service,  as  I  may. 

Fools  only  will  of  them  missay  : 
For  or  in  pulpit  or  elsewhere 

None  needeth  to  be  told  if  they 
Are  wont  their  enemies  to  spare. 

170 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  I  give  to  Rrother  Baude, 

In  the  Mount  Carmel  Convent  who 
Good  cheer  doth  make  and  his  abode, 

A  morion  and  gisarms  two, 

Lest  anything  Decosta  do 
To  steal  from  him  his  wench  away. 

He's  old  ;  unless  he  quit  the  stew, 
There'll  be  the  deuce  and  all  to  pay. 


Item,  for  that  the  Chancellor 

Hath  chewed  fly-droppings  off  and  on 
Full  many  a  time,  his  seal  yet  more 

(  I  give  and  grant  )  be  spat  upon  ; 

And  let  him  sprain  his  thumb  anon, 
(  Him  of  the  diocese,*  I  mean,  ) 

To  put  my  wishes  all  in  one  : 
God  keep  the  others  all  from  teen. 


I  give  my  Lords  the  Auditors 

Wainscot  to  make  their  chamber  fair 

And  each  whose  buttocks  in  the  wars 
Have  been,  a  hollow-bottomed  chair, 
Provided  that  they  do  not  spare 

Macée  of  Orleans,  who,  God  wot, 
Had  my  virginity  whilere, 

For  she's  a  thoroughly  bad  lot. 

*  Of  Orleans. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


To  Master  Francis  (  if  he  live  ), 

Promoter  de  la  Vacquerie, 
A  Scotchman's  collaret  I  give, 

Of  hemp  without  embroidery  ; 

For,  when  he  put  on  chivalry, 
God  and  St.  George  he  did  blaspheme 

And  ne'er  hears  speak  of  them  but  he 
Doth  with  mad  laughter  shout  and  scream. 


I  give  Jehan  Laurens,  whose  poor  eyes 
Are  still  so  red  and  weak,  (  I  ween, 

The  fault  o't  with  his  parents  lies, 

Who  drank  withouten  stint  or  mean  ), 
My  hose-linings,  to  wipe  them  clean 

O'  mornings,  lest  they  waxen  blear  ; 
Had  he  of  Bourges  archbishop  been, 

He  had  had  sendal  ;  but  that's  dear. 


Item,  to  Master  Jehan  Cotard, 

My  Church-court  proctor,  since  some  groat 
Or  two  for  fees  yet  owing  are, 

(  That  had  till  now  escaped  my  thought  ) 

When  action  'gainst  me  Denise  brought, 
Saying  I  had  miscalled  her,  — 

I  have  this  Orison  ywrought, 
So  God  to  heaven  his  soul  prefer. 

172 


N 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


BALLAD  AND  ORISON 


OALL,  that  first  the  vine  planted  : 
Lot,  too,  that  in  tin1  grot  drank  high, 


Architriclinus,  learn'd  in  the  bowl, — 
J  pray  you  all  three  to  set  in  the  sky 
Good  Master  Cotard,  honest  soul. 


He  7(>as  of  your  lineage  born  and  bred  : 

He  drank  of  the  best  and  ilea  rest  ;  ay, 
Though  he'd  never  a  stiver  to  stand  him  in  stead, 

The  best  of  all  topers  he  was  :  for  why. 

Never  good  liquor  found  him  shy, 
None  could  the  pot  from  his  grasp  cajole. 

Fair  Lords,  do  not  suffer  in  hell  to  sigh 
Good  Master  Cotard,  honest  soul. 


Fve  seen  him  oft,  when  he  "went  to  bed, 

Totter  for  tipple  as  like  to  die  : 
And  once  he  gat  him  a  bump  on  the  head 

'Gainst  a  butcher's  stall,  as  he  staggered  by. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Brief,  one  might  question  far  and  nigh 
For  a  better  fellow  the  cup  to  trow/. 

Let  him  in,  if  you  hear  him  the  wieket  try  : 
Good  Master  Cotard,  honest  sou). 

Envoi 

He  scarce  could  spit,  he  %vas  always  so  dry, 
And  ever  '  My  throat's  like  a  red-hot  coal  ' 

Parched  up  with  thirst,  he  was  wont  to  cry  ; 
Good  Master  Cotard,  honest  soul. 


Item,  henceforth  young  Merle  shall  still 
Manage  my  change  (for  evermo' 

God  wot,  it  is  against  my  will 
With  change  I  intermeddle  )  so 
Full  change  he  give  to  high  and  low, 

Three  crowns  six  half-crowns,  and  two  small 
Angels  one  great  one  ;  for,  you  know, 

A  lover  should  be  liberal. 


Item,  I've  seen  with  my  own  eyes 

That  my  poor  orphans,  all  the  three, 
Are  grown  in  age,  and  wit  likewise. 

No  sheepheads  are  they,  I  can  see  ; 

From  here  to  Salins  none  there  be 
That  better  bear  them  at  the  schools  : 

Now,  by  the  Confraternity, 
Lads  of  this  fashion  are  no  fools. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


I  will  that  they  to  college  go  : 

Whither  ?     To  Master  Pierre  Richer. 
Donatus  is  too  hard,  I  trow  : 

Thereat  I  will  not  have  them  stay. 

I'd  rather  they  should  learn  to  say 
An  Ave  Mary  and  there  stand, 

Without  more  letters  ;  for  alway 
Scholars  have  not  the  upper  hand. 


Let  them  learn  this  and  there  leave  off; 

I  do  forbid  them  to  proceed  : 
Meseems  it  is  too  hard  and  tough 

For  boys  to  understand  the  Creed. 

I  halve  my  long  gray  tabard  wede 
And  will  one  half  thereof  to  sell 

And  buy  them  pancakes  :  for  indeed 
Children  did  ever  love  cates  well. 


I  will  that  they  well  grounded  be 

In  manners,  though  it  cost  them  dear  : 

Close  hoods  shall  they  wear,  all  the  three, 
And  go  with  thumbs  in  girdle-gear, 
Humble  to  all  that  come  them  near, 

Saying,  '  Eh,  what  ?  .  .   .   Don't  mention  it  ! 
So  folk  shall  say,  when  they  appear, 

'  These  lads  are  gently  bred,'  to  wit. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  unto  my  clerklings  lean,  — 
To  whom  my  titles  and  degree 

(  Seeing  them  fair  and  well  beseen 
And  straight  as  reeds  )  I  gave  in  fee, 
And  also,  without  price  and  free, 

I  did  my  rent  and  charge  assign, 
To  levy  on  the  pillory, 

As  safe  and  sure  as  if  'twere  mine  : 


(  Though  they  be  young  and  of  good  cheer, 

In  that  they  nothing  me  displease  : 
Come  twenty,  thirty,  forty  year, 

They  will  be  other,  so  God  please. 

Ill  doth  he  that  maltreateth  these, 
Since  fair  they  are  and  in  their  prime  : 

Fools  only  will  them  beat  and  pheeze  ; 
For  younglings  grow  to  men  in  time,  )  — 


The  purses  of  the  Clerks  Eighteen 

They'll  have,  although  my  back  I  break  : 
They're  not  like  dormice,  that  grow  lean 

With  three  months'  sleep  before  they  wake. 

Ill  fares  he  that  his  sleep  doth  take 
In  youth,  when  rise  and  work  should  he, 

So  that  he  needs  must  watch  and  wake 
In  age,  when  he  should  sleeping  be. 

176 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Thereof  unto  the  Almoner 

Letters  to  like  effect  I  write. 
If  they  to  pray  for  me  demur, 

Let  pull  their  ears  for  such  despite. 

Folk  often  marvel  all  their  might 
Why  by  these  twain  such  store  set  I  ; 

But,  fast  or  feast  days,  honour  bright, 
I  never  came  their  mothers  nigh. 


To  Michault  Culdou  I  bespeak, 

As  also  to  Chariot  Taranne, 
One  hundred  sols.     Let  neither  seek 

Whence  ;  'twill  be  manna  to  each  man 

Also  my  boots  of  leather  tan, 
Both  soles  and  uppers,  sundry  pair  ; 

So  they  forgather  not  with  Jehanne 
Nor  any  other  like  to  her. 


Unto  the  Seigneur  de  Grigny, 
To  whom  I  left  Bicêtre  of  yore, 

I  give  the  castle  of  Billy  ; 

Provided  window,  gate  and  door 
He  'stablish  as  they  were  before, 

That  so  in  good  repair  it  be. 

Let  him  make  money  evermore  ; 

For  coin  I  lack  and  none  has  he. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


To  Thibault  de  la  Garde,  no  less,  .  .  . 

(  Thibault  ?  I  lie  :  his  name  is  John  ) 
What  can  I  spare,  without  distress  ? 

I've  lost  enough  this  year  bygone  : 

May  God  provide  him  !  .  .  .  and  so  on. 
What  if  I  left  him  the  Canteen  ? 

No  :  Genevoys's  the  elder  one 
And  has  more  nose  to  dip  therein. 


Item,  I  give  to  Basanier, 

The  judge's  clerk  and  notary, 

A  frail  of  cloves,  which  levied  may 
On  Master  Jehan  de  Rueil  be: 
Mautainct  and  Rosnel  the  like  fee 

Shall  have,  which  them  I  trust  will  stir 
To  serve  with  courage  brisk  and  free 

The  Lord  who  serves  Saint  Christopher 


On  whom  the  Ballad  following 
For  his  fair  lady  I  bestow  :  .  .  . 

If  love  to  us  no  such  prize  fling, 
I  marvel  not  ;  for,  whiles  ago, 
He  bore  her  off  from  high  and  low, 

At  that  tourney  King  René  made  : 
Hector  or  Troilus  ne'er,  I  trow, 

So  much  performed,  so  little  said. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

BALLAD      THAT       VILLON      GAVE     TO      A 

NEWLY  MARRIED  GENTLEMAN  TO  SEND 

TO  HIS  LADY,  BY  HIM  CONQUERED  AT 

THE  SWORD'S  POINT 


r  Ê  "HE  falcon  claps  his  wings  at  break  of  Jay, 
A         Tor  noble  usance,  ay,  and  lustihead  ; 
Frolics  for  glee  and  strikes  and  rends  /its  prey  ; 
Sloops  to  /lis  mate  and  does  of  her  his  need. 
So  mnv  to-you-ward  doth  desire  me  lead 
Of  that  all  lovers  long  for  joyously  ; 

Know,  Love  hath  so  ordained  it  in  his  rede  ; 
And  to  this  end  we  twain  together  be. 


Queen  of  my  heart,  unquestioned  and  alway, 

Till  death  consume  me,  thou  shall  be  indeed. 
Clary,  that purgest  my  chagrins,  sweet  bay, 

That  still  as  champion  for  my  right  dost  plead, 

Reason  ordains  that  J  should  ne'er  be  freed 
(  And  therewithal  my  pleasure  doth  agree) 

From  thy  sweet  service,  while  the  years  succeed 
And  to  this  end  we  twain  together  be. 


And  what  is  more,  when  dule  doth  me  essay, 

Through  Fate  that  ofttime  lowers,  with  all  speed 

Thy  dulcet  looks  her  m  it  lue  do  away, 

As  wind  disperses  smoke  from  hill  and  mead. 

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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

In  no  wise,  sweetest,  do  I  lose  the  seed 
Sown  in  thy  field,  when  the  fruit  likeneth  me  , 

Cod  wills  me  delve  and  fatten  it  and  weed  ; 
And  to  this  end  we  twain  together  be. 

Envoi 

Princess,  I  pray,  to  my  discourse  give  heed  : 
My  heart  shall  not  dissever  aye  from  thee 

ATor  thine  from  me,  if  it  aright  I  read  : 
And  to  this  end  we  twain  together  be. 


Item,  I  give  Jehan  Perdryer  nought, 

And  to  his  brother  Frank  the  same  ; 
Though  still  to  help  me  they  have  wrought 

And  make  me  sharer  in  their  game  ; 

(  Tongues  have  they, sharp  and  fierce  as  flame  :  ) 
And  too,  my  gossip  Frank,  of  yore, 

Without  command  or  prayer,  my  name 
At  Bourges  commended  passing  sore. 


Let  them  in  Taillevent  go  see 
The  chapters  that  of  frying  treat, 

If  they  can  find  my  recipe 

For  dressing  up  this  kind  of  meat  : 
'Twas  Saint  Macaire,  I  once  did  meet, 

Cooking  a  devil,  skin  and  all, 

That  so  the  roast  should  smell  more  sweet, 
Gave  me  this  Recipe,  that  I  call 

1 80 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


BALLAD  OF  SLANDEROUS  TONGUES* 


To  Andry  Courault,  next,  give  I 

The  Counterblast  to  Franc-Gontier  ; 

As  for  the  Tyrant,  set  on  high, 

I've  nought,  indeed,  to  him  to  say  : 
Wisdom  forbids  that  in  affray 

With  mighty  men  poor  folk  should  strive, 
Lest  they  spread  nets  across  the  way, 

To  catch  the  vauntards  in  alive. 


I  fear  not  Gontier,  that  no  men 

Has  nor  is  better  off  than  I  : 
But  now  strife  is  betwixt  us  twain  ; 

For  he  exalteth  poverty  : 

Good  luck  he  deemeth  it,  perdie, 
Winter  and  summer  to  be  poor. 

Myself,  I  hold  it  misery. 
Who's  wrong?     Be  you  judge,  I  conjure. 

*  This  Ballad  is  omitted  for  the  reasons  stated  in  the  Foreword. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


BALLAD    ENTITLED   THE    COUNTERBLAST 
TO  FRANC-GONTIER 


A 


THWART  a  hole  in  the  arras,  t'other  day, 
I  saw  a  fat  priest  lie  on  a  down  bed, 
Hard  by  a  fire  ;  and  by  his  side  there  lay 
Dame  Sydonie,full  comely,  white  and  red  : 
By  night  and  day  a  goodly  life  they  led. 
I  "Matched  them  laugh  and  kiss  and  play,  drink  high 
Of  spicèd  h  vpocras  ;       *  *  * 

*  *  *  Thence  knew  I 

There  is  no  treasure  but  to  have  one's  ease. 


If,  with  his  mistress  Helen,  Franc-Gontier 

Had  all  their  life  this  goodly  fashion  sped, 
With  cloves  of  garlic,  rank  of  smell  alway, 
They  had  no  need  to  rub  their  oaten  bread  : 

For  all  their  curds  (sans  malice  be  it  said ) 
No  jot  I  care,  nor  all  their  cakes  of  rye. 
If  they  delight  beneath  the  rose  to  lie, 

What  say  yon  ?     Ainsi  we  couch  afield  like  these  ? 
Like  you  not  better  bed  and  chair  therenigh  ? 

There  is  no  treasure  but  to  have  one's  ease. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


They  eat  course  bread  of  barley,  sooth  to  say, 
And  drink  but  water  from  the  heavens  shed  : 

Arot  all  the  birds  that  singen  all  the  way 
From  here  to  Babylon  could  me  persuade 
To  spend  one  day  so  harboured  and  so  fed. 

For  God's  sake  let  Franc-Gontier  none  deny 

To  play  with  Helen  'neat h  the  open  shy  ! 
Why  should  it  irk  me,  if  they  love  the  leas  ? 

But,  vaunt  who  will  the  joys  of  husbandry, 
There  is  no  treasure  but  to  have  one's  ease. 

Envoi 

Prince,  be  you  judge  betiuixt  us  all  :  for  my 
Poor  part  I  mind  me  (so  it  none  displease  ) 

Whilst  yet  a  child,  I  heard  folk  testify, 
There  is  no  treasure  but  to  have  one's  ease. 


Item,  since  Madame  de  Bruyères 

Her  bible  knows,  to  publish  it 
(Barring  the  Gospels)  unto  her 

And  to  her  damsels  I  commit, 
To  bring  each  glib-tongued  wanton  chit 

To  book  ;  but  be  the  preachment  not 
Within  the  churchyards  ;  far  more  fit 

'Twere  in  the  net-market,  God  wot. 


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THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

BALLAD  OF  THE  WOMEN  OF  PARIS 

i 
r  i  ^IJOL'GH  folk  deem  women  young  and  old 
A         Of  Venice  and  Genoa  well  end1 
Favoured  with  speech,  both  glib  and  bold, 
To  carry  messages  to  and  fro  ; 
Savoyards,  Florentines  less  or  mo, 
Romans  and  Lombards  though  folk  renown, 

I,  at  my  peril,  I  say  no  ; 
There's  no  right  speech  out  of  Paris  town. 

ii 
The  Naples  women  (so  we  are  told) 

Can  school  all  comers  in  speech  and  show  ; 
Prussians  and  Germans  tvere  still  extolled 

For  pleasant  prattle  of  friend  and  foe  ; 

Fut  hail  they  from  Athens  or  Grand  Cairo, 
Castil/e  or  Hungary,  black  or  brown, 

Greeks  or  Egyptians ,  high  or  low, 
There's  no  right  speech  out  of   Paris  town. 

m 
Switzers  nor  Bretons  know  how  to  scold. 

Nor  Frovence  nor  Gascony  women  :  lo  ! 
Two  fishfags  in  Fan's  the  bridge  that  hold 

Would  slang  them  dumb  in  a  minute  or  so. 

Picardy,  England,  Lorraine,  (  heigho  ! 
Enough  of  places  have  I  set  down  ?) 

Valenciennes,  Calais,  wherever  you  go, 
There's  no  right  speech  out  of  Paris  town. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Envoi 

I'ii lit  e,  to  tin-  Pans  ladies,  I  trow, 
For  pleasant  parlance  I  yield  the  crown. 

They  may  talk  of  Italians  :  hut  this  I  know, 
There's  no  right  speech  out  of  Paris  town. 

cxxxv 

Look  at  them  there,  by  twos  and  threes, 
Upon  their  gowns'  hem  seated  low, 

In  churches  and  in  nunneries: 

Speak  not,  but  softly  near  them  go 
And  speedily  you'll  come  to  know 

Such  judgments  as  Macrobius  ne'er 
Did  give.     Whate'er  you  catch,  I  trow, 

'Twill  all  some  flower  of  wisdom  bear. 

CXXXVI 

Item,  unto  Mount  Martyr  hill 

(  Old  past  the  memory  of  man  ) 
Let  them  adjoin  (  it  is  my  will  ) 

The  knoll  called  Mount  Valerian  : 

I  give  it  for  a  quarter's  span 
The  indulgences  from  Rome  I  brought  ; 

Whence  shall  the  convent,  where  no  man 
Might  come,  of  many  now  be  sought. 

cxxxvn 
Item,  to  serving  men  and  maids 

Of  good  hostels  (in  no  despite), 
Pheasants,  tarts,  custards  and  croustades 

And  high  carousal  at  midnight  : 

«8.S 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Seven  pints  or  eight,  the  matter's  slight, 
Whilst  sound  asleep  are  lord  and  dame  : 


Item,  to  honest  wenches  who 

Have  fathers,  mothers,  aunts  .   .  .  'Fore  God  ! 
I've  nothing  left  to  give  to  you  : 

All  on  the  servants  I've  bestowed. 

Poor  silly  wantons,  they  had  showed 
Themselves  with  little  satisfied  ! 

Some  scraps  might  well  have  gone  their  road 
Of  all  the  convents  cast  aside. 


Cistercians  and  Celestines, 

Though  they  be  railed  off  from  the  rest, 
They  eat  rich  meats  and  drink  sweet  wines, 

Whereof  poor  whores  know  not  the  zest 

As  Jehanne  and  Perrette  can  attest 
And  Isabeau  that  says  "  Is't  not  ?  " 

Since  they  therefor  are  so  distrest, 
One  scarce  were  damn'd  for  it,  God  wot. 

CXL 

Item,  to  sturdy  stout  Margot, 
Of  face  and  favour  fair  and  feat, 

A  pious  creature,  too,  eno',  — 
I'  faith,  by  God  Almighty  be't, 

1 86 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

I  love  her  well,  the  proper  peat, 
As  she  (sweet  chuck)  loves  me  indeed 

If  any  chance  with  her  to  meet, 
Let  him  this  Ballad  to  her  read. 


BALLAD    OF    VILLON  AND    MUCKLE  MEG* 


Item,  to  Marion  (Statue  hight) 
And  to  tall   Jehanne  of  Brittany, 

I  give  to  keep  a  school  by  night. 

Where  masters  taught  of  scholars  be 
A  thing  you  everywhere  may  see, 

Except  in  Mehun  gaol  alone. 

Wherefore  I  say,  Out  on  the  fee  ! 

Since  that  the  trick  is  so  well  known. 


Item,  to  Noel  Well-beseen 

No  other  gift  I  do  ordain 
Than  both  hands  full  of  osiers  green, 

Out  of  my  garden  freshly  ta'en  : 

(  One  should  to  chastisement  be  fain  : 
In  sooth  it  is  fair  almsgiving  :  ) 

Eleven  score  strokes  laid  on  amain. 
Of  Master  Hal's  administ'ring. 

*  This  Ballad  is  omitted  for  the  reasons  stated  in  the  Foreword. 
I87 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Item,  the  Hospitals  unto 

What  to  bequeath  I  hardly  know: 
Here  jests  are  neither  right  nor  due, 

For  sick  poor  folk  have  ills  eno'; 

Let  each  man's  leavings  to  them  go. 
The  Mendicants  have  had  my  goose  : 

Nought  but  the  bones  they'll  get,  I  trow 
The  poor  can  seldom  pick  and  choose. 


I  give  my  barber,  (  an  he  list  )  — 
By  name  that  Colin  Galerne  hight, 

Near  Angelot's  the  Herbalist, — 
A  lump  of  ice  :  let  him  apply't 
Upon  his  paunch  and  hold  it  tight, 

So  he  may  freeze  as  seems  him  meet  : 
If  thus  o'  winter  deal  the  wight. 

He'll  not  complain  of  summer  heat. 


Item,  I  leave  the  Foundlings  nought  : 

But  to  the  Lostlings  comfort's  due, 
Who  should,  if  anywhere,  be  sought 

Where  lodges  Marion  the  Statue. 

A  lesson  of  my  sort  to  you 
I'll  read  :  'twill  soon  be  overpast. 

Turn  not,  I  pray,  deaf  ears  thereto, 
But  listen  sadly  :  'tis  the  last. 

1 88 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


SEEMLY      LESSON     OF     VILLON     TO      THE 
GOOD-FOR-NOUGHTS 


I  ~*A  IR  sons,  you're  wasting,  ere  you're  old. 
J.  The  fairest  rose  to  you  that  fell. 

You,  that  like  birdlime  take  </>/</  hold, 
When  to  Montpippeau  or  Ruel 
(My  clerks) you  wander,  keep  you  well: 
/•or  of  the  tricks  that  there  he  played. 

Thinking  to  'scape  a  second  spell, 
Colin  of  Caveulx  lost  las  head. 


No  trifling  game  is  this  to  play. 

When  one  stakes  soul  and  body  too  : 

If  losers,  no  remorse  can  stay 

A  shameful  death  from  ending  you 
And  even  the  winner,  for  his  due, 

I  lath  not  a  Dido  to  his  wife. 

Foolish  and  lewd  I  hold  him  who 

Doth  for  so  little  risk  his  life. 


.Vow  all  of  you  to  me  attend  : 
Even  a  load  of  wine,  folk  say. 

With  drinking  at  last  comes  to  an  end, 
By  /ire  in  winter,  in  woods  in  May. 

189 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

If  you  have  money,  it  doth  not  stay, 
But  this  way  and  that  it  wastes  amain  : 

What  does  it  profit  you,  any  way  ? 
Ill-gotten  good  is  nobody  s  gain . 


BALLAD    OF   GOOD    DOCTRINE   TO    THOSE 
OF  ILL  LIFE 


J  REDDLE  indulgences  as  you  may  : 

J.  Cog  the  dice  for  your  cheating  throws  : 

Try  if  counterfeit  coin  will  pay, 
At  risk  of  roasting  at  last,  like  those 
That  deal  in  treason.     Lie  and  glose, 

H(i/i  and  ravish  :  what  profits  it  ? 

Who  gets  the  purchase,  do  you  suppose  ? 

Taverns  and  wenches,  every  whit. 


Rhyme,  rail,  wrestle  and  cymbals  play  : 

Flute  and  fool  it  in  mummers'  shows  : 
Along  with  the  strolling  players  stray 

From  town  to  city,  without  repose  ; 

Act  mysteries,  farces,  imbroglios  : 
Win  money  at  glee/c  or  a  lucky  kit 

At  the  pins  :  like  water,  away  it  fiows 
Taverns  and  wenches,  every  whit. 

190 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

in 
Turn  from  you?-  evil  courses  /  pray, 

That  smell  so  Joui  in  a  decent  nose  : 
Earn  your  bread  in  some  honest  way. 

If  you  have  no  letters,  nor  verse  nor  prose, 

Plough  or  groom  horses,  beat  hemp  or  toze. 
Enough  shall  you  have  if  you  think  but  fit  : 

But  east  not  your  wage  to  each  wind  that  blows 
Taverns  and  wenches,  every  whit. 

Envoi 

/'«//blets,  pourpoints  and  silken  hose, 

Gowns  and  linen,  -woven  or  knit, 
Ere  your  wede's  wopn,  away  it  goes  ; 

Taverns  and  wenches,  every  whit. 

""CXLVI 
Companions  in  debauchery, 

111  souls  and  bodies  well  bestead, 
Beware  of  that  ill  sun  (  look  ye  ) 

That  tans  a  man  when  he  is  dead  : 

'Tis  a  foul  death  to  die,  I  dread. 
Keep  yourselves  from  it,  so  you  may  ; 

And  be  this  still  remembered, 
That  all  of  you  must  die  some  day. 

CXLVI  I 

Item,  I  give  the  Fifteen-score  — 

(  Three  hundred  just  as  well  'tmight  be  )  — 
For  that  by  them  I  set  great  store, 

(  Paris,  not  Provins  ones,  for  me  )  — 

191 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

My  goggles  (  sans  the  case,  perdie  ) 
So  in  the  churchyards  where  they  serve, 

They  may  the  bad  to  sever  see 
From  honest  folk  that  well  deserve. 

CXLVIII 

HERE*  silence  doth  for  ever  reign  : 
Nothing  it  profiteth  the  dead 
On  beds  of  satin  to  have  lain 

And  drunk  from  gold  the  vine-juice  red 
And  lived  in  glee  and  lustihead. 
Soon  all  such  joys  must  be  resigned  : 

All  pass  away,  and  in  their  stead 
Only  the  sin  remains  behind. 

CXLIX 

When  I  consider  all  the  heads 

That  in  these  charnels  gathered  be, 

Those  that  are  sleeping  in  these  beds 
May  have  (  for  aught  that  I  can  see  ) 
Been  mighty  lords  of  high  degree, 

Bishops  and  dames,  —  or  else  poor  churls  : 
There  is  no  difference  to  me 

'Twixt  watercarriers'  bones  and  earls. 


These  ladies  all,  that  in  their  day 

Each  against  each  did  bend  and  bow, 

Whereof  did  some  the  sceptre  sway, 
Of  others  feared  and  courted,  —  now 

i.  e .  in  the  churchyards. 

IQ2 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Here  are  they  sleeping  all  a-row, 
Heaped  up  together  anydele, 

Their  crowns  and  honours  all  laid  l<>\\ 
Masters  or  clerks,  there's  no  appeal. 


Now  are  they  dead,  God  have  their  sprights 

As  for  their  bodies,  they  are  clay  : 
Once  they  were  ladies,  lords  and  knights, 

That  on  soft  beds  of  satin  lay 

And  fed  on  dainties  every  day. 
Their  bones  are  mouldered  into  dust. 

They  reck  not  now  of  laugh  or  play  : 
Christ  will  assoilzie  them,  I  trust. 

CLII 

I  make  this  ditty  for  the  dead  : 

The  which  I  do  communicate 
To  Courts  and  Pleas,  ill  doers'  dread, 

That  unjust  avarice  do  hate  ; 

That  for  the  welfare  of  the  state 
Do  work  their  bones  and  bodies  dry  : 

God  and  St.  Dominick  abate 
Their  sins  unto  them  when  they  die. 


Item,  Jacques  Cardon  nought  of  me 
(  For  nought  I  have  for  him  )  shall  get, 

—  Not  that  he'd  throw't  away,  perdie  — 
Except  this  roundel  ;  if  'twere  set 

193 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

To  some  such  tune  as  "  Marionette," 
Composed  for  Marion  Slow-to-come, 

Or  "  Hold  your  door  open,  Guillemette, 
It  might  belike  the  vogue  become. 


ROUNDEL 


On  my  release //ww  prison  strait, 
it 7/ erf  J  have  left  my  life  well- nigh, 
If  Fate  still  look  at  me  awry, 
Judge  if  .she  be  inveterate  ! 
Reason  meseemeth,  past  debate, 
Her  malice  she  should  molli/y 
On  my  release. 

full  of  unreason  is  this  Fate, 

Which  willeth  but  that  I  should  die  : 
God  grant  that  in  His  house  on  high 

My  soul  be  ravished  from  her  hate, 
On  my  release. 


THIS  gift  shall  Lomer  have  of  me, 
—  As  sure  as  I'm  a  fairy's  son,  - 
That  he  shall  '  well-belovèd  '  be, 
But  wench  or  woman  love  he  none 

194 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Nor  lose  his  head  for  any  one, 
And  that  an  hundred  times  a  night 

The  trick  for  nought  of  him  be  done, 
In  spite  of   Ilolger  the  good  knight. 

CLV 

To  lovers  sick  and  sorrowful, 

(As  well  as  Alain  Chartier's  Lay,  J 

At  bedhead,  a  benature-full 

Of  tears  I  give,  and  eke  a  spray 
Of  eglatere  or  flowering  May, 

(  To  sprinkle  with  )  in  time  of  green  ; 
Provided  they  a  Psalter  say, 

To  save  poor  Villon's  soul  from  teen. 


To  Master    lames,  that  day  and  night 

Himself  at  hoarding  wealth  doth  kill, 
I  give  as  many  girls  to  plight 

(  But  none  to  marry)  as  he  will. 

For  whom  doth  he  his  coffers  fill  ? 
For  those  that  are  his  kin,  alack  ! 

That  which  the  sows'  was,  I  hold  ill 
Should  to  the  porkers  not  go  back. 


Unto  the  Seneschal  I  bequeath,  — 
(  Who  once  from  debt  did  me  release  ) 

Besides  the  quality  of  Smith, — 

The  right  of  shoeing  ducks  and  gee- e 

i9S 


THK  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

I  send  him  all  these  fooleries, 
To  help  him  pass  away  the  time. 

Or  make  him  spillets  if  he  please  : 
One  wearies  of  the  best  of  rhyme. 


The  Captain  of  the  Watch,  also  — 
Two  proper  youths  to  serve  as  page  ; 

Marquet  the  Stout  and  Philippot, 
Who  for  the  most  part  of  their  age 
Have  served  (  whence  are  they  the  more  sage  ) 

The  Blacksmiths'  Provost.     Wellaway  ! 
If  they  should  chance  to  lose  their  wage, 

They  must  go  shoeless  many  a  day. 


Item,  to  Chappelain  let  there  pass 

My  simple-tonsure  chapelry, 
Charged  but  with  saying  a  low  mass  : 

There  little  letters  needed  be. 

My  cure  of  souls  he  should  of  me 
Have  had  ;  but  no  one  to  confess 

(  To  go  by  what  he  says  )  cares  he, 
Save  chambermaids  and  mistresses. 

CLX 

Since  my  intent  he  well  doth  know, 
To  Jehan  de  Calais  —  (  worthy  wight 

Who  saw  me  thirty  years  ago 

And  hath  not  since  on  me  set  sight, 

196 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Indeed,  nor  knoweth  how  I  hight, — 
If  in  this  Testament  befall 

Or  hitch  or  doubt,  I  give  full  righl 
To  solve  and  mend  them,  one  and  all  : 


To  glose  upon  it  and  comment, 

Define,  eliminate,  prescribe. 
Diminish  aught  or  aught  augment, 

To  cancel  it  or  it  transcribe 

With  his  own  hand,  although  no  scribe 
He  be  ;  such  sense  as  he  thinks  tit, 

At  pleasure,  good  or  bad,  ascribe 
Thereto  :   1  sanction  all  of  it. 


And  if,  perchance,  some  legatee, 

Without  my  knowledge,  should  be  dead, 
It  shall  at  the  discretion  be 

Of  Jehan  de  Calais  aforesaid 

To  see  my  will  interpreted 
And  otherwise  the  gift  apply 

Nor  take  it  for  himself  instead: 
I  charge  him  on  his  soul  thereby. 


Item,  my  body.  I  ordain, 

Shall  at  St.  Avoye  buried  be  : 

And  that  my  friends  may  there  again 
My  image  and  presentment  see, 

•97 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Let  one  the  semblant  limn  of  me 
In  ink,  if  that  be  not  too  dear. 

No  other  monument,  perdie  : 
'Twould  overload  the  floor,  I  fear. 


Item,  I  will  that  over  it 

That  which  ensues,  without  word  more, 
In  letters  large  enough  be  writ  : 

If  ink  fail  (  as  I  said  before  ), 

Let  them  the  words  with  charcoal  score, 
So  they  do  not  the  plaster  drag: 

'Twill  serve  to  keep  my  name  in  store, 
As  that  of  a  good  crack-brained  wag. 


epitaph 

CLXV 

Here  lies  and  slumbers  in  this  place 
One  whom  Love  wreaked  his  ire  upon 

A  scholar,  poor  oe  goods  and  grace, 
Thai-  hight  of  old  François  Villon  : 
Aire  or  furrow  had  he  none. 
Tin  known  his  all  he  gave  away  ; 
Bread,  taiu.es,  pressées,  all  are  gone. 

Gallants,  of  him  this  Roundel  say. 


198 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

ROUNDEL 

/Et el  nam  Requiem  dona. 
Lord  Cod,  and  everlasting  lights 
To  him  who  never  hod,  poor  wight. 

Platter,  or  aught  thereon  to  lay'. 

I  lair,  eyebrows,  beard  all  fallen  away. 
Like  a  peeled  turnip  was  his  plight, 

/Eternam  Requiem  dona. 

Exile  compelled  him  many  a  day 

.  I  nd  death  at  last  his  breech  did  smile. 
Though,  '  /appeal,'  with  all  his  might 

The  man  in  good  plain  speech  did  say. 

/Eternam  Requiem  dona. 


Item,  I  will  they  toll  for  me 

The  '  Belfry'  Bell,  that  is  so  great 
Of  voice,  that  all  astonied  be 

When  he  is  tolled,  early  or  late. 

Many  a  good  city,  of  old  date, 
He  saved,  as  every  one  doth  know  ; 

Thunder  or  war,  all  ills  abate 
When  through  the  land  his  voices  go. 


Four  loaves  the  ringers'  wage  shall  be  : 
If  that's  too  little,  six  :  (  that  is 

What  rich  folk  wont  to  give  for  fee  :  ) 
But  they  St.  Stephen's  loaves,  ywis, 

199 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Shall  be.     Let  Vollanl  share  in  this; 
A  man  that  earns  his  living  hard  : 

'Twill  furnish  forth  a  week  of  his. 
The  other  one  ?     Jehan  de  la  Garde. 


Item,  to  carry  out  this  all, 

As  my  executors  I  name 
Men  who  are  good  to  deal  withal 

And  never  shirk  an  honest  claim  : 

They're  no  great  vauntards,  all  the  same, 
Though  they've  good  cause  for  it,  perdie  ; 

They  shall  fulfil  my  thought  and  aim  : 
Write,  I  will  name  six  names  to  thee. 


First,  Master  Martin  de  Belief  aye, 
The  King's  Lieutenant-criminel. 

Who  shall'be  next  ?     Whom  shall  I  say  ? 
It  shall ,be  Messire  Colombel  : 
If,  as  I  think,  it  like  him  well, 

He'll  undertake  this  charge  for  me. 
The  third  one  ?     Michel  Jouvenel  : 

I  give  the  office  to  these  three. 


Xatheless,  in  case  they  should  excuse 
Themselves  therefrom,  for  fear  of  fees, 

Or  altogether  should  refuse, 
I  name  as  their  successors  these, 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Good  men  and  true  in  their  degrees  : 
Philip  Brunei,  the  noble  squire, 

For  next,  his  neighbour  (  an  he  please  ), 
Master  Jacques  Raguyer,  I  desire. 


Master  Jacques  James  shall  be  the  third  : 
Three  men  of  worth  and  good  renown, 

That  for  believers  in  God's  Word 

And  right  God-fearing  souls  are  known 
Far  rather  would  they  spend  their  own 

Than  not  my  full  intent  fulfil. 
No  auditor  on  them  shall  frown  : 

They  shall  do  all  at  their  own  will. 


The  Register  of  Wills  from  me 

Shall  have  nor  quid  nor  quod,  I  trow  : 
But  every  penny  of  his  fee 

To  Tricot,  the  young  priest,  shall  go  ; 

At  whose  expense  gladly  eno' 
I'd  drink,  though  it  my  nightcap  cost  : 

If  but  he  knew  the  dice  to  throw, 
Of  Perette's  Den  I'd  make  him  host. 


Guillaume  du  Ru,  for  funeral, 
Shall  see  the  chapel  duly  lit  ; 

And  as  to  who  shall  bear  the  pall, 
Let  my  executors  order  it. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

And  now,  my  body  every  whit 
(  Groin,  eyebrows,  hair  and  beard  and  all  ) 

Being  racked  with  pain,  the  time  seems  tit 
To  cry  folk  mercy,  great  and  small. 


v* 


\LI.AD  CRYING  ALL  FOLK  MERCY 

i 


I~~^/\EA'PJS,  be  they  white  or  be  they  grey  : 
J~  Xuus,  mumpers,  chanters  awry  that  tread 

A u  J  clink  their  pattens  on  each  highway  : 

P. ackers  and  handmaids,  apparelled 

fu  tight-fitting  sitrcoats,  white  and  red  ; 
Gallants,  whose  hoots  o'er  their  ankles  fall. 

That  vaunt  and  ruffle  it  una  dread  : 
I  cry  folk  mercy,  one  and  all. 


Wantons  who  all  their  charms  display, 

That  so  more  custom  to  them  be  led, 
Brawlers  and  jugglers  and  tumblers  gay  : 

Clowns  with  their  apes  and  carpet  spread  : 

Players  that  whistle  for  lustihead, 
.  Is  they  trudge  it  Pwixt  village  and  town  and  hall , 

Gentle  and  simple,  living  and  dead,  — 
I  cry  folk  mercy,  one  and  all. 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


Save  only  the  treacherous  beasts  of  prey, 

That  garred  me  batten  on  prison  bread 
And  water,  many  a  night  and  day. 

I  fear  them  not  now,  no,  not  a  shred  : 

And  gladly  (but  that  /  lie  a-bed 
And  have  small  stomach  for  strife  or  brawl) 

I'd  have  my  wreak  of  them.      .Vow,  instead, 
1  cry  folk  mercy,  one  and  all. 

Envoi 

S(>  but  the  knaves  be  ribroastid 

And  basted  well  with  an  oaken  maul 

Or  some  stout  horsewhip  weighted  with  lead, 
I  cry  folk  mercy,  one  and  all. 


^BALLAD,  BY  WAY  OF  ENDING 


T   T  ERE  is  ended  (both  great  and  small) 
JL  J.        Poor  Villon's  Testament  !    When  he  is  dead. 
Come,  I  pray,  to  his  funeral, 

Whilst  the  bell  tinkles  overhead. 

Come  in  cramozin  garmented  ; 
Eor  to  Love  martyr  did  he  die. 

Thereof  he  swore  on  his  manlihead. 
Whenas  he  felt  his  end  draw  nigh. 

203 


THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 


For  me,  I  warrant  it  true  in  all  : 
For  of  his  love,  in  shameful  stead, 

He  was  beaten  oft,  like  a  bandy-ball. 
From  here  to  Roussilldn  as  he  fled, 
There's  ne'er  a  bramble  but  tore  some  shred 

Of  hose  or  jerkin  front  hip  or  thigh  ; 
So,  without  leasing,  Villon  said, 

Whenas  he  felt  his  end  draw  nigh. 


///  such  ill  places  his  life  did  fall, 
He  had  but  a  rag  when  he  was  sped  : 

An  (yet  more  luckless)  when  death  did  call, 

Love' s  prickle  galled  him  ;  its  wounds  still  bled 
hi  him.     His  heart  was  heavy  as  lead 

And  salt  tears  stood  in  his  dying  eye  : 
At  his  despair  we  zvere  wondered, 

Whenas  he  felt  his  end  draw  nigh. 

Envoi 

Prince,  that  art  gent  as  a  yearling  gled, 
Hear  what  he  did  with  his  latest  sigh  : 

He  drank  a  long  draught  of  the  vine-juice  red, 
Whenas  he  felt  his  end  draw  nigh. 

|erc  cnbttlj  the  dfreater  Cestamcut  of  Paster 
Jfrancois  ©tllon 


204 


DIVERS  POEMS 


$ere  foliote  ,pbers  |1oems  of  Paster  Jrançois 

fôillon,  not  being  pad  of  bjts  Cesser 

anb  tëreater  Testaments 


HA  II.  AD  OF  VI  I. J, ON   IN   PRISON 


AVE  pity,  friends,  have  pity  now,  I 
pray, 
If  it  so  please  you,  at  the  least, 
on  me  ! 
I  lie  in  fosse,  not  under  holm  or  may, 
In  this  duresse,  wherein,  alas  1  I 
dree 

111  fate,  as  God  did  thereanent  decree. 
Lasses  and  lovers,  younglings  manifold. 
Dancers  and  mountebanks,  alert  and  bold, 
Nimble  as  quarrel  from  a  crossbow  shot  ; 
Singers,  that  troll  as  clear  as  bells  of  gold,  — 
Will  you  all  leave  poor  Villon  here  to  rot  ? 


Clerks,  that  go  carolling  the  livelong  day, 

Scant-pursed,  but  glad  and  frank  and  full  of  glee; 

Wandering  at  will  along  the  broad  highway, 

Harebrained,  perchance,  but  wit-whole  too,  perdie  : 
Lo  !  now,  I  die,  whilst  that  you  absent  be. 

207 


DIVERS  POEMS 

Song-singers,  when  poor  Villon's  days  are  told, 
You  will  sing  psalms  for  him  and  candles  hold  ; 

Here  light  nor  air  nor  levin  enters  not, 
Where  ramparts  thick  are  round  about  him  rolled. 

Will  you  all  leave  poor  Villon  here  to  rot  ? 


Consider  but  his  piteous  array, 

High  and  fair  lords,  of  suit  and  service  free, 
That  nor  to  king  nor  kaiser  homage  pay, 

But  straight  from  God  in  heaven  hold  your  fee  ! 

Come  fast  or  feast,  all  days  alike  fasts  he, 
Whence  are  his  teeth  like  rakes'  teeth  to  behold  : 
No  table  hath  he  but  the  sheer  black  mould  : 

After  dry  bread  (not  manchets),  pot  on  pot 
They  empty  down  his  throat  of  water  cold  : 

Will  you  all  leave  poor  Villon  here  to  rot  ? 

Envoi 

Princes  and  lords  aforesaid,  young  and  old, 
Get  me  the  King  his  letters  sealed  and  scrolled 

And  draw  me  from  this  dungeon  :  for,  God  wot, 
Even  swine,  when  one  squeaks  in  the  butcher's  fold, 
Flock  around  their  fellow  and  do  squeak  and  scold. 

Will  you  all  leave  poor  Villon  here  to  rot? 


208 


DIVERS   POEMS 


THE  QUATRAIN    THAI'    VILLON    MADE 
WHEN    HE  WAS   DOOMED  TO    DIE 

FRANCOIS  am  I,  —  woe  worth  it  me  : 
At  Taris  born,  near  Pontoise  citie, 
Whose  neck,  in  the  bight  of  a  rope  of  three, 
Must  prove  how  heavy  my  buttocks  be. 


VARIANT  OF   THF.   FOREGOING   EPITAPH 

FRANÇOIS  am  I,  —  woe  worth  it  me! 
—  Corbier  my  surname  is  aright  : 
Native  of  Auvers,  near  Pontoise  citie  ; 
Of  folk  for  sobriquet  Villon  hight. 
But  for  the  gallant  appeal  I  made, 
Mv  neck,  in  the  bight  of  a  rope  of  three. 

Had  known  ere  this  what  my  buttocks  weighed. 
The  game  scarce  seemed  to  me  worth  to  be  played. 


zog 


DIVERS  POEMS 

TUE    EPITAPH     IN     BALLAD    FORM    THAT 
VILLON   MADE  FOR  HIMSELF  AND  HIS 
COMPANIONS,  EXPECTING  NO  BET- 
TER   THAN    TO    BE    HANGED  IN 
THEIR    COMPANY 


BROTHERS,  that  after  us  on  life  remain, 
Harden  your  hearts  against  us  not  as  stone  ; 
For,  if  to  pity  us  poor  wights  you're  fain, 

God  shall  the  rather  grant  you  benison. 

You  see  us  six,  the  gibbet  hereupon  : 
As  for  the  flesh  that  we  too  well  have  fed, 
'Tis  all  devoured  and  rotted,  shred  by  shred. 

Let  none  make  merry  of  our  piteous  case, 
Whose  crumbling  bones  the  life  long  since  hath  fled: 

The  rather  pray,  God  grant  us  of His  grace  ! 


Yea,  we  conjure  you,  look  not  with  disdain. 

Brothers,  on  us,  though  we  to  death  were  done 
By  justice.     Well  you  know,  the  saving  grain 

Of  sense  springs  not  in  every  mother's  son  : 

Commend  us,  therefore,  now  we're  dead  and  gone, 
To  Christ,  the  Son  of  Mary's  maidenhead. 
That  he  leave  not  His  grace  on  us  to  shed 

And  save  us  from  the  nether  torture-place. 
Let  no  one  harry  us  :  forsooth,  we're  sped  : 

The  rather  pray,  God  grant  us  of  His  grace  ! 


DIVERS   POEMS 

m 
We  are  whiles  scoured  and  soddened  of  the  rain 

And  whiles  burnt  up  and  blackened  of  the  sun  : 
Corbies  and  pyets  have  our  eyes  out-ta'en 

And  plucked  our  beard  and  hair  out,  one  b\  one. 

Whether  by  night  or  day,  rest  have  we  none  : 
Now  here,  now  there,  as  the  wind  shifts  its  stead. 
We  swing  and  creak  and  rattle  overhead, 

No  thimble  dinted  like  our  bird  pecked  face. 
Brothers,  have  heed  and  shun  the  life  we  led  : 

/'//<•  rather  pray,  God  grant  us  of  His  grace  ' 

Envoi 
Prince  Jesus,  over  all  empowered. 
Let  us  not  fall  into  the  Place  of  Dread, 

But  all  our  reckoning  with  the  Fiend  efface. 
Folk,  mock  us  not  that  are  forspent  and  dead  ; 

The  rallier  p  raw  God  grant  us  of  His  grace  ! 


Till.   REQUEST  OF  VILLON,  PRESENTED  TO 

THE   HIGH  COURT  OF  PARLIAMENT 

IN   BALLAD  FORM 


ALL  my  five  senses,  in  your  several  place. 
Hearing  and  seeing,  taste  and  touch  and  smell. 
Every  my  member  branded  with  disgrace, — 
Each  on  this  fashion  do  ye  speak  and  tell  : 
'  Most  Sovereign  Court,  by  whom  we  here  befell. 


DIVERS  POEMS 

Thou  that  deliveredst  us  from  sore  dismays, 
The  tongue  sumceth  not  thy  name  to  blaze 

Forth  in  such  strain  of  honour  as  it  should  : 
Wherefore  to  thee  our  voices  all  we  raise, 

Sister  of  angels,  mother  of  the  good  '.  ' 


Heart,  cleave  in  sunder,  or  in  any  case 

Re  not  more  hardened  and  impermeable 
Than  was  the  black  rock  in  the  desert-space, 

Which  with  sweet  water  for  the  Jews  did  swell  ; 

Melt  into  tears  and  mercy  cry,  as  well 
Refits  a  lowly  heart  that  humbly  prays  : 
Give  to  the  Court,  the  kingdom's  glory,  praise,  — 

The  Frenchman's  stay,  the  help  of  strangerhood, 
Bom  of  high  heaven  amidst  the  empyreal  rays  : 

Sister  of  angels,  mother  oj  the  good .' 


And  you,  my  teeth,  your  sockets  leave  apace  ; 

Come  forward,  all,  and  loudlier  than  bell, 
Organ  or  clarion,  render  thanks  for  grace 

And  every  thought  of  chewing  now  repel. 

Bethink  you,  I  was  doomed  to  death  and  hell, 
Heart,  spleen  and  liver  palsied  with  affrays  : 
And  you,  my  body,  (  else  you  were  more  base 

Than  bear  or  swine  that  in  the  dunghill  brood,  ) 
Fxtol  the  Court,  ere  worser  hap  amaze  ; 

Sister  of  angels,  mother  of  the  good  ! 


DIVERS   POEMS 

Envoi 

Prince,  of  thy  grace  deny  me  not  three  days 
To  bid  my  friends  adieu  and  go  my  ways  : 

Without  them,  I've  nor  money,  clothes  nor  food. 
Triumphant  Court,  be't  as  thy  suppliant  says  ; 

Sister  of  angels,  mother  of  the  good  ! 

BALLAD  OF  VILLON'S  APPEAL 


GARNIER,  how  like  you  my  appeal  ? 
Did  I  wisely,  or  did  I  ill  ? 
Each  beast  looks  to  his  own  skin's  weal  : 
If  any  bind  him,  to  keep  or  kill, 
He  does  himself  free  to  the  best  of  his  skill. 
When  then,  sans  reason,  to  me  was  sung 
This  pleasant  psalm  of  a  sentence,  still 
Was  it  a  ti/ru-  to  hold  my  tongue? 


Were  I  of  Capet's  race  somedele 

(Whose  kin  were  butchers  on  Montmartre  hill 
They  had  not  bound  me  with  iron  and  steel 

Nor  forced  me  to  swizzle  more  than  my  till  : 

(  You  know  the  trick  of  it,  will  or  nill  ?  ) 
But,  when  of  malice  prepense  and  wrong, 

They  doomed  me  to  swallow  this  bitter  pill, 
Was  it  a  time  to  hold  my  tongue  ■ 


DIVERS  POEMS 


Think  you  that  under  my  cap  I  feel 
Not  reason  nor  ableness  thereuntil, 

Sufficient  to  say,  '  I  do  appeal  '  ? 

Enough  was  left  me  (  as  warrant  I  will  | 
To  keep  me  from  holding  my  clapper  still. 

When  jargon,  that  meant  'You  shall  be  hung' 
They  read  to  me  from  the  notary's  bill  : 

l  lu  y  it  ,1  time  to  hold  my  tongite  ' 

Envoi 

Prince,  had  I  had  the  pip  in  my  bill, 
Long  before  this  I  should  have  swung. 

A  m  arecrow  hard  by  Montfaucon  mill  ! 
Was  it  ii  time  to  hold  my  tongue  ? 


HALLAL)  OF   PROVERBS 


GOATS  scratch  until  they  spoil  their  bed 
Pitcher  to  well  too  oft  we  send  : 
The  iron's  heated  till  it's  red 

And  hammered  till  in  twain  it  rend  : 
The  tree  grows  as  the  twig  webend  : 
Men  journey  till  they  disappear 

Even  from  the  memory  of  a  friend  : 
We  shout  out  '  NoëV  till  it's  here. 

214 


DIVERS  POEMS 


Some  mock  until  their  hearts  do  bleed  : 

Some  are  so  frank  that  they  offend  : 
Some  waste  until  they  come  to  need  : 

A  promised  gift  is  ill  to  spend  : 

Some  love  God  till  from  church  they  trend 
Wind  shifts  until  to  North  it  veer  : 

Till  forced  to  borrow  do  we  lend  : 
We  shout  out  '  NoëV  till  it's  here. 


Dogs  fawn  on  us  till  them  we  feed  : 
Song's  sung  until  by  heart  it's  kenned  : 

Fruit's  kept  until  it  rot  to  seed: 

The  leaguered  place  falls  in  the  end  : 
Folk  linger  till  the  occasion  wend  : 

Haste  oft  throws  all  things  out  of  gear  : 
One  clips  until  the  grasp's  o'erstrained 

We  s Ii  out  out  •  NoëV  till  it's  here. 

Envoi 

Prince,  fools  live  so  long  that  they  mend 
They  go  so  far  that  they  draw  near  : 

They're  cozened  till  they  apprehend  : 
We  shout  out  '  Noël  '  till  it's  here. 


2'5 


DIVERS   POEMS 


BALLAD  OF   THINGS    KNOWN    AND 
UNKNOWN 


FLIES  in  the  milk  I  know  full  well  ; 
I  know  men  by  the  clothes  they  wear 
I  know  the  walnut  by  the  shell  : 
I  know  the  foul  sky  from  the  fair  : 
I  know  the  pear-tree  by  the  pear: 
I  know  the  worker  from  the  drone 

And  eke  the  good  wheat  from  the  tare  : 
/  know  all  save  myself  alone . 


I  know  the  pourpoint  by  the  fell 
And  by  his  gown  I  know  the  frère  : 

Master  by  varlet  I  can  spell  : 

Nuns  by  the  veils  that  hide  their  hair 
I  know  the  sharper  and  his  snare 

And  fools  that  fat  on  cates  have  grown 
Wines  by  the  cask  I  can  compare  : 

/  know  <tll  save  myself  alone. 


I  know  how  horse  from  mule  to  tell  : 
I  know  the  load  that  each  can  bear 

I  know  both  Beatrice  and  Bell  : 
1  know  the  hazards,  odd  and  pair  : 

216 


DIVERS   POEMS 

I  know  of  visions  in  the  air  : 
I  know  the  power  of  Peter's  throne 

And  how  misled  Bohemians  were  : 
I  know)  ii//  save  myself  alone. 

Envoi 

Prince,  I  know  all  things  :  fat  and  spare. 

Ruddy  and  pale,  to  me  are  known 
And  Death  that  endeth  all  our  care  : 

/  (.■nolo  iill  mit;'  myself  alone. 


l:\l.LAD  OF   POOR  CHIMNEYSWEEPS 


M 


EN  talk  of  those  the  fields  that  till  ; 
Of  those  that  sift  out  chaff  from  com 
Of  him  that  has,  will  he  or  nill, 

A  wife  that  scoldeth  night  and  morn,  — 

As  folk  hard  driven  and  forloni  : 
Of  men  that  often  use  the  sea  ; 
Of  monks  that  of  poor  convents  be  ; 

Of  those  behind  the  ass  that  go  : 
But,  when  all  things  consider  we, 

Poor  chimneysweeps  have  toil  eno' 

217 


DIVERS   POEMS 


To  govern  boys  and  girls  with  skill, 
God  wot,  's  no  labour  lightly  borne 

Nor  to  serve  ladies  at  love's  will  ; 
Or  do  knight  suit  at  sound  of  horn. 
Helmet  and  harness  always  worn, 

And  follow  arms  courageously: 

To  joust  and  tilt  with  spears,  perdie, 
And  quintain  play,  is  hard,  I  know  : 

But,  when  all  things  consider  we, 
Poor  chimneysweeps  have  toil  eno\ 


God  wot,  they  suffer  little  ill 

By  whom  wheat's  reaped  and  meadows  shorn 
Or  those  that  thresh  grain  for  the  mill 

Or  plead  the  Parliament  beforne  ; 

To  borrow  money's  little  scorn  ; 
Tinkers  and  carters  have  to  dree 
But  little  hardship,  seemeth  me  ; 

Nor  does  Lent  irk  us  much,  I  trow  : 
But,  when  all  things  consider  we, 

Poor  chimneysweeps  have  toil  eno\ 

[Envoi  deest.  ] 


215 


DIVERS    POEMS 
PALI.AD   OF   FORTUNE 


I  OF  old  times  by  makers  Fortune  hight,  — 
Whom,  Francois,  thou  dost  rail  at  and  decry, 
Far  better  men  than  thou,  poor  nameless  wight, 

I  grind  into  the  dust  with  poverty 

And  gar  them  delve  i'  the  quarries  till  they  die  : 
Wherefore  complainest  thou  ?      If  thou  live  ill, 
Thou  art  not  singular  :  so,  peace,  be  still. 

Think  but  how  many  mighty  men  of  yore 

I've  laid  stark  dead  to  stiffen  in  their  gore, 
By  whom  thou'rt  but  a  scullion  knave,  perdit-. 

Content  thee,  then,  and  chide  thy  fate  no  more 
/  rede  thee,  Villon,  take  it  all  in  gree. 


Oft  have  I  girded  me  to  wreak  my  spite 

Upon  great  kings:  lo,  in  the  days  gone  by, 

Priam  I  slew  ;  and  all  his  warlike  might 

Availed  him  nought,  towers,  walls  nor  ramparts  high 
'Gainst  Hannibal  no  less  did  I  apply. 

Who  was  attaint  in  Carthage  by  my  skill  : 

And  Scipio  Africanus  did  I  kill  : 

(beat  Ca;sar  to  the  Senate  1  gave  o'er 

And  wrecked  stout  Pompey  upon  Egpyt  shore  : 

Jason  I  drowned  by  tempest  on  the  sea 

And  burned  both  Rome  and  Romans  heretofore  : 

/  rede  thee,  l 'Mon,  lake  it  all  in  gree. 

219 


DIVERS  POEMS 


Nay,  Alexander,  that  renowned  knight, 

Who  longed  to  reach  the  backward  of  the  sky 

And  shed  much  blood,  with  poison  did  I  blight  ; 
I  made  Arphaxad  on  the  field  to  lie, 
Dead,  by  his  royal  standard.     Thus  did  I 

Eull  many  a  time  and  yet  more  will  fulfil  : 

Nor  time  nor  reason  can  awry  my  will. 
Huge  Holophernes,  too,  that  did  adore 
Strange  gods,  whom  Judith  with  his  sword  of  war 

Slew  as  he  slept;  and  Absalom,  as  he 

Fled,  by  the  love-locks  hanged  I  that  he  wore. 

/  rede  thee,  Villon,  take  it  all  in  gree. 

Envoi 

Poor  François,  set  my  rede  in  thy  heart's  core  : 
If  I  could  aught  without  God's  leave  or  lore, 

I'd  leave  no  rag  to  one  of  all  that  be  ; 
For  each  ill  done  I'd  compass  half  a  score  : 

/  rede  thee,   Villon,  take  it  all  in  gree. 


BALLAD    AGAINST    THOSE     WHO    MISSAV 
OF  FRANCE 

i 

LET  him  meet  beasts  that  breathe  out  fiery  rain. 
Even  as  did  Jason  hard  by  Colchis  town  ; 
Or  seven  years  changed  into  a  beast  remain, 
Nebuchadnezzar-like,  to  earth  bowed  down  ; 


DIVERS  POEMS 

Or  suffei  else  such  teen  and  mickle  bale 

As  Helen's  rape  on  Trojans  did  entail  ; 
Or  in  Hell's  marshes  fallen  let  him  fare 
I, ike  Tantalus  and  Proserpine  or  bear 

A  grievouser  than  Job  his  sufferance, 
Prisoned  and  pent  in  Daedalus  his  snare, 

Who  would  wish  ill  unto  the  realm  of  France. 


Four  months  within  a  marish  let  him  plain, 

Bittern-like,  with  the  mud  against  his  crown 
Or  sell  him  to  the  Ottoman,  to  chain 

And  harness  like  an  ox,  the  scurvy  clown  ! 
Or  thirty  years,  like  Maudlin,  without  veil 
Or  vesture,  let  him  his  misdeeds  bewail  ; 

Or  with  Narcissus  death  by  drowning  share; 

Or  die  like  Absalom,  hanged  by  the  hair  ; 
(  )r  Simon  Magus,  by  his  charms'  mischance  ; 

Or  Judas,  mad  with  horror  and  despair, — 
Who  would  wish  ill  unto  the  realm  of  France. 


If  but  Octavian's  time  might  come  again, 

His  molten  gold  should  down  his  throat  be  thrown, 

Or  'twixt  two  millstones  he  should  grind  for  grain. 
As  did  St.  Victor;  or  I'd  have  him  drown 

Far  out  to  sea,  where  help  and  breath  should  fail, 

Like  Jonah  in  the  belly  of  the  whale  ; 


DIVERS  POEMS 

Let  him  be  doomed  the  sunlight  to  forswear. 

Juno  her  goods  and  Venus  debonair, 
And  be  of  Mars  oppressed  to  utterance, — 

As  was  Antiochus  the  king,  whilere, — 
Who  ivoiild  wish  ill  unto  the  realm  of  France. 

Envoi 

Frince,  may  winds  bear  him  to  the  wastes  of  air 
Or  to  the  mid-sea  woods  and  sink  him  there  : 

Be  all  his  hopes  changed  to  désespérance; 
For  he  deserves  not  any  fortune  fair 

Who  would  wish  ill  unto  the  realm  of  /-ranee. 


BALLAD  OF  THE   DEBATE  OF   THE  1TEART 
AND   BODY  OF  VILLON 


WHAT  is'i   I  hear?  —  Tis  I,  thy  heart  ;   'tis  I 
That  hold  but  by  a  thread  for  frailty, 
I  have  nor  force  nor  substance,  all  drained  dry, 

Since  thee  thus  lonely  and  forlorn  I  see, 

Like  a  poor  cur,  curled  up  all  shiveringly.  — 
How  comes  it  thus  ?  —  Of  thine  unwise  Hesse.  — 
What  irks  it  thee  ? —  /suffer  the  distress. 

Leave  me  in  peace.  —  Why?— I  will  cast  about. 
When  will  that  be?  —  When  I'm  past  childishness. 

/  say  no  more.  —  And  J  can  do  without. 


DIVERS  POEMS 

il 

What  deemesl  thou  ? —  To  mend  before  I  die. — 
At  thirty  years?  —  'Tis  a  mule's  age,  perdie. — 

Is't  childhood  ? —  Nay.  —  'Tis  madness,  then,  doth  ply 
And  grip  thee  ?  —  Where  ?  —  By  the  nape. —  Seemeth  me 
Nothing  I  know  ? —  Yes.  flies  in  milk,  maybe  : 

Thou  canst  tell  black  from  white  yet  at  a  press. — 

Is't  all  ? —  What  words  can  all  thy  faults  express  ? 
If  't's  not  enough,  we'll  have  another  bout.  — 

Thou'rt  lost. — -I'll  make  a  fight  for't  none  the  less.    - 
/  sav  no  more.  —  And  I  run  do  without. 


Dule  have  I,  pain  and  misery  thou  thereby: 

If  thou  wert  some  poor  idiot,  happily 
Thou  mightst  have  some  excuse  thy  heart  anigh. 

I-o,  foul  and  fair  are  all  alike  to  thee. 

Or  harder  is  thy  head  than  stone  by  sea 
Or  more  than  honour  likes  thee  this  duresse. 
Canst  thou  say  aught  in  answer  ?     Come,  confess. 

I  shall  be  quit  on't  when  I  die,  no  doubt. — 
Cod  !  what  a  comfort  'gainst  a  present  stress  ! 

[say  no  more. —  And  /  can  do  without. 


Whence  comes  this  evil? — Surely,  from  on  high 
When  Saturn  made  me  up  my  fardel,  he 

Put  all  these  ills  in.  —  'Tis  a  foolish  lie  : 

Thou  art  Eate's  master,  yet  its  slave  wilt  be. 
Thereof  see  Solomon  his  homily; 

223 


DIVERS   POEMS 

The  wise,  he  says,  no  planets  can  oppress: 
They  and  their  influence  own  his  mightiness. — 

Nay,  as  they've  made  me,  so  shall  it  fall  out. — 
What  sayst  thou  ?  —  'Tis  the  faith  that  I  profess.  — 

/  say  no  more.  — And  f  can  do  without. 

Envoi 

Will  thou  live  long?  —  So  God  vouchsafe  me,  yes. — 
Then  must  thou —  What  ? —  Repent  ;  forswear  idlesse 
And  study  —  What?  —  The  lore  of  righteousness. — 

I'll  not  forget.  —  Forsake  the  motley  rout 
And  to  amendment  straightway  thee  address  : 
I  )elay  not  till  thou  come  to  hopelessness. 

/  say  no  more.  —  And  I  ran  do  without. 


BALLAD 


WRITTEN    BY    VILLON    UHON    A    SUBJECT    TKnrosED   BV   CHARLES 
DUC    D*ORLEANS 


1DIE  of  thirst,  although  the  spring's  at  hand; 
Hot  as  a  fire,  my  teeth  with  cold  do  shake  ; 
In  my  own  town.  I'm  in  a  foreign  land; 
Hard  by  a  burning  brazier  do  I  quake  ; 
Clad  like  a  king,  yet  naked  as  a  snake. 

224 


DIVERS  POEMS 

[  laugh  through  tears,  expect  sans  hope  soe'er 
And  comfort  take  amiddleward  despair; 

Glad,  though  I  joy  in  nought  beneath  the  sun. 
Potent  am  I,  and  yet  as  weak  as  air  ; 

Well  entertained,  rebuffed  of  every  one. 


Nought's  dim  to  me  save  what  I  understand  ; 

Uncertain  things  alone  for  sure  I  take  ; 
I  doubt  but  facts  that  all  unquestioned  stand; 

I'm  only  wise  by  chance  for  a  whim's  sake  ; 

'  Give  you  good-night  !  '  I  say,  whenas  I  wake 
Lying  at  my  length,  of  falling  I  beware  ; 
I've  goods  enough,  yet  not  a  crown  to  spare  ; 

Leave  off  a  loser,  though  I  still  have  won  ; 
Await  bequests,  although  to  none  I'm  heir  ; 

Well  entertained,  rebuffed  of  every  one. 


I  care  for  nought,  yet  all  my  life  I've  planned 
Goods  to  acquire,  although  I've  none  at  stake  ; 

They  speak  me  fairest,  by  whom  most  I'm  banned, 
And  truest,  who  most  mock  of  me  do  make  : 
He  is  my  friend,  who  causes  me  mistake 

lilack  ravens  for  white  swans  and  foul  for  fair  ; 

Who  doth  me  hurt,  I  hold  him  debonair; 
'Twixt  truth  and  lying  difference  see  I  none  ; 

Nought  I  conceive,  yet  all  in  mind  I  bear  ; 
Well  entertained,  rebuffed  of  every  one. 

225 


DIVERS  POEMS 

Envoi 

Most  clement  Prince,  I'd  have  you  be  aware 
That  I'm  like  all  and  yet  apart  and  rare  ; 

Much  understand,  yet  wit  and  knowledge  shun  : 
To  have  my  wage  again  is  all  my  care  ; 

Well  entertained,  rebuffed  of  every  one. 


BALLAD  OF    VILLON'S    REQUEST    TO    THE 
DUC   DE  BOURBON 


GRACIOUS  my  lord  and  prince  of  mickle  dread, 
Flower  of  the  Lily,  Royal  progeny, 
François  Villon,  whom  dule  and  teen  have  led 

To  the  blind  strokes  of  Fate  to  bend  the  knee, 

Sues  by  this  humble  writing  unto  thee, 
That  thou  wilt  of  thy  grace  to  him  make  loan. 
Before  all  courts  his  debit  he  will  own  : 

Doubt  not  but  he  thy  right  will  satisfy, 
With  interest  thereunder  due  and  grown  : 

Nothing  but  waiting  shalt  thou  lose  thereby. 


Of  no  prince  has  thy  creature  borrowed, 
Save  of  thyself,  a  single  penny  fee  : 

The  six  poor  crowns  were  wholly  spent  in  bread. 
That  whiles  thy  favour  did  advance  to  me. 
All  shall  be  paid  together,  I  agree, 

226 


DIVERS   POEMS 

And  that  right  soon,  ere  many  days  be  flown  ; 
For  if  in  Patay  wood  are  acorns  known 

Or  chestnuts  thereabout  folk  sell  and  buy, 
In  season  thou  shalt  have  again  thine  own  : 

Nothing  but  waiting  shalt  thon  lose  thereby. 


If  I  could  sell  my  youth  and  lustihead 

Unto  the  Lombards,  usurers  that  be, 
Lack-gold  has  brought  me  to  such  piteous  stead, 

I  do  believe  I  should  the  venture  dree. 

In  purse  or  belt  no  money  can  I  see  : 
I  wonder  what  it  is,  by  God  His  throne  ! 
For  unto  me,  save  it  be  wood  or  stone, 

No  cross  at  all  appears, —  I  do  not  lie  : 
But,  if  the  true  cross  once  to  me  be  shown, 

Nothing  but  waiting  shalt  thou  lose  thereby. 

Envoi 

Prince  of  the  Lys,  that  lov'st  good  deeds  alone, 
Think'st  thou  it  has  cost  me  many  a  groan 

That  I  can  not  to  my  intent  draw  nigh  ? 
Give  ear,  if  it  so  please  thee,  to  my  moan  : 

Nothing  but  waiting  shalt  thou  lose  thereby. 


227 


SUNDRY    POEMS 
ATTRIBUTED    TO    VILLON 


jere  foliota  sanbrg  poems  tommonlg  aitributtû  to 
Paster  Jraittois  ©Ulott 


ROUNDEL 

AREWELL,  I  say,  with  tearful  eye. 

Farewell,  the  dearest  sweet  to  see  ! 

Farewell,  o'er  all  the  kindest  she  I 
Farewell,  with  heavy  heart  say  I. 
Farewell,  my  love,  my  soul,  good-bye  1 

My   poor   heart  needs  must   part 
from  thee  : 
Farewell,  I  say,  with  tearful  eye. 


Farewell,  by  whose  default  I  die 

Deaths  more  than  told  of  tongue  can  be 
Farewell,  of  all  the  world  to  me 

Whom  most  I  blame  and  hold  most  high  ! 
Farewell,  I  say,  with  tearful  eye. 


23» 


POEMS  ATTRIBUTED  TO  VILLON 


A  MERRY  BALLAD  OF  VINTNERS 


BY  dint  of  dart,  by  push  of  sharpened  spear, 
By  sweep  of  scythe  or  thump  of  spike-set  mace, 

By  poleaxe,  steel-tipped  arrow-head  or  shear 
Of  double-handed  sword  or  well-ground  ace, 
By  dig  of  dirk  or  tuck  with  double  face, 

Let  them  be  done  to  death  ;  or  let  them  light 

On  some  ill  stead,  where  brigands  lurk  by  night, 

That  they  the  hearts  from  out  their  breasts  may  tear, 
Cut  off  their  heads,  then  drag  them  by  the  hair 

And  cast  them  on  the  dunghill  to  the  swine, 
That  sows  and  porkers  on  their  flesh  may  fare, 

The  vintners  that  put  zvater  in  our  wine. 


Let  Turkish  quarrels  run  them  through  the  rear 
And  rapiers  keen  their  guts  and  vitals  lace  ; 

Singe  their  perukes  with  Greek  fire,  ay,  and  sear 
Their  brains  with  levins  ;  string  them  brace  by  brace 
Up  to  the  gibbet  ;  or  for  greater  grace, 

Let  gout  and  dropsy  slay  the  knaves  o\itright  : 

Or  else  let  drive  into  each  felon  wight 

232 


POEMS  ATTRIBUTED  TO  VILLON 

Irons  red-heated  in  the  furnace-flare  : 

Let  half  a  score  of  hangmen  flay  them  bare  ; 

And  on  the  morrow,  seethed  in  oil  or  brine, 

Let  four  great  horses  rend  them  then  and  there, 

The  vin liters  that  put  water  in  our  wine. 


Let  some  great  gunshot  blow  their  heads  off  sheer; 

Let  thunders  catch  them  in  the  market-place; 
Let  rend  their  limbs  and  cast  them  far  and  near, 

For  dogs  to  batten  on  their  bodies  base  ; 

Or  let  the  lightning-stroke  their  sight  efface. 
Frost,  hail  and  snow  let  still  upon  them  bite  ; 
Strip  off  their  clothes  and  leave  them  naked  quite, 

For  rain  to  drench  them  in  the  open  air  ; 

Lard  them  with  knives  and  poiniards  and  then  bear 
Their  carrion  forth  and  soak  it  in  the  Rhine  ; 

Break  all  their  bones  with  mauls  and  do  not  spare 
The  vintners  that  put  water  in  our  ici  ne. 

Envoi 

Prince,  may  God  curse  their  vitals!  is  my  prayer  ; 

And  may  they  burst  with  venom  all,  in  fine, 
These  traitorous  thieves,  accursed  and  unfair, 

The  vintners  that  put  water  in  our  wine. 


233 


POEMS  ATTRIBUTED  TO  VILLON 


BALLAD  OF  THE  TREE  OF  LOVE 


1HAVE  within  my  heart  of  hearts  a  tree, 
A  plant  of  Love,  fast  rooted  therewithin, 
That  bears  no  fruit,  save  only  misery  ; 

Hardship  its  leaves  and  trouble  its  flowers  bin. 

But,  since  to  set  it  there  Love  did  begin, 
It  hath  so  mightily  struck  root  and  spread 
That,  for  its  shadow,  all  my  cheer  is  fled 

And  all  my  joys  do  wither  and  decay  : 
Yet  win  I  not,  of  all  my  lustihead, 

Other  to  plant  or  tear  the  old  atvay. 


Year  after  year,  its  branches  watered  be 
With  tears  as  bitter  and  as  salt  as  sin  ; 

And  yet  its  fruits  no  fairer  are  to  see 
Nor  any  comfort  therefrom  can  I  win  : 
Yet  pluck  I  them  among  the  leavis  thin  ; 

My  heart  thereon  full  bitterly  is  fed, 

That  better  had  lain  fallow,  ay,  or  dead, 
Than  to  bear  fruits  of  poison  and  dismay 

But  Love  his  law  allows  me  not  instead 
Other  to  plant  or  tear  the  old  away. 

234 


POEMS  ATTRIBUTED  TO   VILLON 


If,  in  this  time  of  May,  when  wood  and  lea 

Are  broidered  all  with  leaves  and  blossoms  sheen, 

Love  would  vouchsafe  this  succour  unto  me, — 
To  prune  away  the  boughs  that  lie  between, 
That  so  the  sun  among  the  buds  be  seen, 

And  imp  thereon  some  graft  of  goocilihead, — 

Full  many  a  pleasant  burgeon  would  it  shed, 
Whence  joy  should  issue,  lovelier  than  the  day; 

And  no  more  were  despair  solicited 
Other  to  plant  or  tear  t!ie  old  away. 

Envoi 

Dear  my  Princess,  my  chiefest  hope  and  dread, 
Whom  my  heart  serves  in  penitential  stead, 

The  woes  that  harrow  it  do  thou  allay 
And  suffer  not  thy  constant  thought  be  led 

Other  to  plant  or  tear  the  old  away. 


w 


BALLAD  OF  LADIES'  LOVE 

No.   i 
i 
ELL  enough  favoured  and  with  substance  sti 


Some  little   stored,  chance  brought  me  'neath 
love's  spell 
And  day  and  night,  until  I  had  my  will. 
I  pined  in  languor  unendurable  : 
I  loved  a  damsel  more  than  I  can  tell  ; 

235 


POEMS  ATTRIBUTED  TO  VILLON 

But,  with  good  luck  and  rose-nobles  a  score, 
I  had  what  men  of  maids  have  had  before. 

Then,  in  myself  considering,  I  did  say  : 
'  Love  sets  by  pleasant  speech  but  little  store  ; 

The  wealthy  gallant  always  gains  the  day.' 


So  chanced  it  that,  whilst  coin  my  purse  did  fill, 
The  world  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell 

And  I  was  all  in  all  with  her,  until, 

Without  word  said,  my  wanton's  loose  eyes  fell 
Upon  a  graybeard,  rich  but  foul  as  hell  : 

A  man  more  hideous  never  woman  bore. 

But  what  of  that  ?     He  had  his  will  and  more  : 
And  I,  confounded,  stricken  with  dismay, 

Upon  this  text  went  glosing  passing  sore  : 
'  The  wealthy  gallant  always  gains  the  day.' 


Now  she  did  wrong  ;  for  never  had  she  ill 

Or  spite  of  me  :  I  cherished  her  so  well 
That,  had  she  asked  me  for  the  moon,  my  skill 

I  had  essayed  to  storm  heaven's  citadel. 

Yet,  of  sheer  vice,  her  body  did  she  sell 
Unto  the  service  of  that  satyr  hoar  : 
The  which  I  seeing,  of  my  clerkly  lore 

I  made  and  sent  to  her  a  piteous  lay  : 
And  she  :  '  Lack  gold  undid  thee:  '  words  but  four 

The  wealthy  gallant  always  fains  the  Jay. 

236 


POEMS  ATTRIBUTED  TO  VILLON 

Envoi 

Fair  Prince,  more  skilled  than  any  one  of  yore 
In  pleasant  speech,  look  thou  have  coin  galore 

Within  thy  pouch  :  as  Meung  that  clerk  so  gay 
And  wise,  hath  told  us,  in  the  amorous  wai 

The  wealthy  gallant  always  gains  the  day. 


BALLAD    OF  LADIES'  LOVE* 
No.  2 


ïere  ,-cnbctb   %    ï3ooh  of  tin   Ibcms   of  piaster 
«Jfraiuois  $illon 


•This  Ballad  is  omitted  for  the  reasons  stated  in  the  Foreword 
237 


NOTES 


NOTES 


N  preparing  the  following,  I  have  endeav- 
oured, as  far  as  possible,  to  avoid  encum- 
bering the  book  with  a  quantity  of 
unnecessary  notes,  bearing  upon  informa- 
tion within  the  reach  of  every  educated 
person,  and  have  confined  myself  to 
throwing  light,  to  the  best  of  my  ability, 
upon  such  points  as  must  of  necessity  be 
obscure  to  all  but  a  special  student  of  the  old  poet.  Even  this 
limited  scheme  must  unavoidably  be  but  imperfectly  carried  out  : 
many  of  Villon's  allusions  to  persons,  places  and  things  are  at  the 
present  day  hopelessly  obscure  and  inexplicable,  owing  to  our 
defective  acquaintance  with  his  life  and  times,  and  I  have  chosen 
to  leave  untouched  the  passages  wherein  they  occur,  rather  than 
hamper  the  text  with  a  mass  of  vague  and  purely  conjectural 
explanations,  which  my  readers  are  perfectly  well  qualified  to 
suggest  for  themselves.  Those  admirers  of  the  poet,  who  are 
desirous  of  making  themselves  more  minutely  acquainted  with  the 
labours  of  modern  criticism,  should  consult  the  monographs  of 
MM.  Bijvanck,  Longnon  and  Vitu  and  the  editions  cited  in  my 
prefatory  note,  where  they  will  find  all  that  is  at  present  known  or 
conjectured  on  the  subject  ably  and  impartially  stated  and  discussed. 


NOTES  TO  THE  LESSER  TESTAMENT 

Octave  i.  line  7. —  Vegetius.  Flavii  Vegetii  Epitome  Rei  Mili- 
taris,  the  translation  (or  rather  paraphrase)  of  which  by  Jehan  de 
Meung,  under  the  title  of  "  L'Art  de  Chevalerie  selon  Vegesse," 
is  frequently  cited  by  mediaeval  writers. 

241 


NOTES 

Oct.  ix.  —  Villon  seems  here  to  burlesque  the  customs  of  chivalry, 
feigning  himself  a  knight  and  bequeathing  the  paraphernalia  of 
knighthood  to  some  relative  charged  to  maintain  the  honour  of 
the  name. 

Oct.  xii. —  'The  White  Horse,  Mule,  Diamond  and  Striped 
A ss  were  probably  signs  of  well-known  taverns.  The  Decretal 
Omnis  utrius  sexus  was  (according  to  M.  Prompsault)  one  order- 
ing all  Christians  to  confess  at  least  once  a  year  to  their  parish 
priest  and  had  lately  been  revived  against  the  Mendicant  Orders. 
by  the  repeal  of  an  intermediate  Bull  authorising  the  latter  to 
receive  confessions  in  detriment  to  the  rights  of  the  regular  clergy. 

Oct.  xiii.  —  The  U'ether,  Gad,  Crowned  Ox  and  Coïu  and 
Churl.     Probably  also  tavern  signs. 

Oct.  xv.  —  The  Art  of  Memory.  Probably  either  the  Ars 
Memorativa  or  the  Ars  Memoriae  of  Jacobus  Publicius,  popular 
mnemonic  treatises  of  the  middle  ages.  Misprepetise.  Mal- 
pensé, probably  as  M.  Bijvanck  suggests,  a  farce-type  or  personifi- 
cation of  a  hare-brained  witless  man,  of  the  family  of  Maugouverne, 
Malavisé,  Malduit,  Malemort,  etc.,  in  the  popular  stage-pieces, 
farces,  sotties,  moralities  and  mysteries  of  the  time.  Villon  here, 
according  to  his  usual  practice,  first  makes  a  bequest  and  then 
virtually  annuls  it,  giving  the  legatee  the  book  called  the  Art  of 
Memory,  but  directing  it  to  be  procured  from  Malpensé,  the  one 
person  of  all  others  who  would  not  possess  it.  It  may  be  noted, 
once  for  all,  that  this  underlying  contradiction  in  terms  is  the 
motive  of  most  of  the  fantastic  legacies  contained  in  the  poet's  two 
Testaments. 

Oct.  xvi.  1.  7. — Clément  Marot  suggests  that  the  shop  in  question 
was  to  be  that  of  a  scribe  or  public  writer.  A  Iso  the  acorns  ivilloivs 
bear.  Another  instance  of  an  illusory  bequest,  as  willows  of 
course  bear  no  glands  or  acorns. 

Oct.  xix.  —  According  to  M.  Lacroix,  the  Castles  of  Nygeon  and 
Bicêtre  near  Paris  were  both  in  ruins  in  Villon's  time  and  the 
haunt  of  numerous  bands  of  thieves  and  vagabonds.  They  were 
probably  well  known  to  the  poet,  who  facetiously  bequeaths  the 
right  of  shelter  in  them  to  Montigny  and  Grigny,  fellow-rogues 
of  his. 


242 


NOTES 

Oct.  xx. —  '/Vif  'Puppet*  Cistern.  L'Abreuvoyr  Poupin,  a 
well-known  resort  of  rogues  and  vagabonds  on  the  Pont  Neuf, 
apparently  a  sort  of  succursal  to  the  more  celebrated  Cour  des 
Miracles.  The  text  may,  perhaps,  be  read  as  referring  to  a  low 
tavern  situate  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  Fir-cone  {ox Fir  Apple) 
Tavern.  Le  Cabaret  de  la  Pomme  de  Pin,  the  most  famous  of  its 
time  in  Paris,  situate  in  the  Rue  de  la  Juiverie  and  mentioned  by 
many  writers  of  the  day.  Back  to  chair.  Le  doz  aux  rains,  i.  e., 
le  dos  aux  reins,  lit.  "back  to  loins,"  i.e.,  lying  back  in  an 
unceremonious  attitude  of  comfortable  abandon  in  his  chair.  Rains 
may  also  be  read  as  for  raims,  an  old  French  form  of  rameaux, 
branches,  often  used  in  the  sense  (  v.  Diez,  Ducange,  etc.)  of 
"  faggots,"  in  which  case  le  doz  aux  rains  would  mean  "  with  his 
back  to  the  faggots  piled  up  beside  the  fire."  M.  Bijvanck's  pro- 
posal to  read  "  le  doz  aux  rais,"  i.  e.,  back  to  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
is  too  far-fetched  for  adoption.  This  octave  is  one  of  the  most 
garbled  in  the  whole  work  and  has  been  a  favourite  battle-ground 
of  the  commentators. 

Oct.  xxi.  1.  3.  —  That  baron  s  grace.  The  baron  alluded  to 
appears  to  have  been  the  Lieutenant-Criminel  of  Paris.  Jehan 
Mautainct  and  Pierre  Basanier  were  officials  of  his  (the  Châtelet) 
Court. 

Oct.  xxii.  —  The  Helmet.  Apparently  a  tavern  sign.  La 
Pierre  au  Lait,  according  to  M.  Longnon,  was  an  old  name  for 
the  Rue  des  Ecrivains  (formerly)  near  St.  Jacques  de  la  Bou- 
cherie. The  Three  Lilies.  Les  Trois-Lis,  supposed  by  some 
commentators  to  have  been  the  name  of  a  dungeon  (  perhaps  Les 
Trois-Lits,  the  Three  Beds  )  in  the  Châtelet  Prison  ;  but  a  refer- 
ence is  probably  meant  to  some  tavern  sign. 

Oct.  xxiii.  —  Some  sort  of  play  appears  to  be  here  intended 
upon  the  word  Barre,  in  its  heraldic  sense  of  bend  sinister  or  sign 
of  illegitimacy  and  its  mediaeval  meaning  of  merchant's  bar  or 
counter.  Goodcheap  man  or  Chapman.  Un  bon  marchant,  a  cant 
name  for  a  thief  ;  who,  getting  goods  cheap,  i.  e.,  for  nothing,  can 
afford  to  sell  them  again  at  a  low  price.  The  legatee  seems  to 
have  been  a  souteneur  or  prostitutes'  bully  ;  hence  the  gift  of  straw, 
which  was  used  by  women  of  ill  fame  in  lieu  of  carpet.     Some 

243 


NOTES 

versions  of  this  passage  read  mar  quand  for  marchant,  in  which 
case  Villon  may  be  supposed  to  have  intended  a  play  upon  the 
word  marque,  a  medieval  slang  equivalent  for  our  doxy  or 
blowen  ;  thus  marquand  might  mean  dealer  in  marques  or  wenches, 
which  would  accord  with  the  legatee's  character. 

Oct.  xxiv.  —  Chollet  and  Jehan  le  Loup.  Thieves  of  Villon's 
acquaintance.  A  duck.  It  seems  uncertain  whether  the  poet 
refers  to  the  ducks  and  geese  kept  by  the  city  of  Paris  and  adjacent 
commoners  upon  the  water-moats,  or  to  the  prostitutes  (known  bv 
the  cant  names  of  oies  and  canettes)  who  used  to  haunt  the  dry 
moats  after  sundown. 

Oct.  xxvii.  1.  i.  —  My  right  of  nomination.  "  Les  nominations 
étaient  une  certaine  quantité  de  prébendes  attribuées  aux  gradués 
des  Universités  par  l'Article  15  de  la  Pragmatique.''  Coquillart, 
Ed.  Héricault  L,  p.  131,  n.  2. 

Oct.  xxix  1.  1.  —  The  Crozier  of  the  street  Of  St.  Antoine.  A 
tavern  sign,  evidently  introduced  for  the  sake  of  a  play  upon  the 
words  crosse  (crqzier)  and  on  crosse  (folk  beat  or  butt,  strike  the 
ball  with  the  cue). 

Oct.  xxx.  —  The  lodgers  ' neath  the  stalls,  i.  e.,  the  beggars  and 
vagabonds  who  used  to  lie  under  the  street-booths  or  stalls  by 
night.  Each  one  a  buffet  on  the  eye.  Chascun  sur  l'œil  une 
grongnée.  "  Groignet,  gourmade,  coup  de  poing  sur  l'œil  ou 
visage."  —  Ducange. 

Oct.  xxxii.  1.  6.  —  The  Fifteen  Signs.  Les  Quinze  Signes  du 
Jugement  dernier,  a  favourite  theme  of  mediaeval  homily  and 
morality. 

Oct.  xxxiii.  —  Le  Mortier  d'Or.  Probably  the  sign  of  some  well- 
known  shop  or  tavern  at  Paris,  facetiously  bequeathed  to  Jehan  de 
la  Garde,  in  allusion  to  his  nickname  of  '  Epicier.'  To  grind  his 
mustard.  Broyer  sa  moutarde,  according  to  M.  Bijvanck,  anciently 
meant  "  to  chew  upon  one's  ill  humour  or  chagrin."  The  pestle 
from  St.  Maur  would  seem  to  have  been  a  gibbet.  (The  legatee, 
as  a  sergeant  of  the  watch,  was  of  course  one  of  Villon's  natural 
enemies.)  I  believe  the  double-handed  pestle  was  at  one  time 
called  potence,  on  account  of  its  resemblance  to  an  ordinary  cross- 
barred  gallows.     M.   Moland  thinks  it  may  have  meant  one  of  the 


244 


NOTES 

crutches  hung  up  ex-voto  in  the  Church  of  St.  Maur.  In  the 
seventh  line  of  the  same  stanza  Villon  says,  St.  Anthony  roast 
him  full  sore  !  alluding  to  the  erysipelatous  disease  known  as  St. 
Anthony's  fire. 

Oct.  xxxiv.  —  Gouvieux  (says  M.  Lacroix) was  a  castle  on  the 
Oise,  of  which  Peter  de  Ronseville  was  prohahly  governor.  It  is 
possible  that  Villon  had  been  imprisoned  there  and  made  this 
bequest  to  the  gaolers,  in  derisive  memory  of  his  sufferings  at  their 
hands.  Such  crowns  .  .  .  as  the  prince  giveth  for  largesse,  i.  e., 
none  at  all,  princes  in  general  (or  perhaps  some  contemporary 
prince  in  particular  renowned  for  his  closenstedness  )  being  in  the 
habit  of  promising  much,  but  giving  little. 

Octaves  xxxvi-viii.  —  These  three  octaves  appear  to  be  a  clumsy 
paraphrase  (or  perhaps  parody)  of  some  popular  mediaeval  abstract 
or  digest  of  Aristotle  de  Anima  in  use  in  the  schools. 

Oct.  xl.  1.  7. —  Pewter.  Billon,  i.  e.,  base  or  small  coin,  other 
than  silver. 


NOTES  TO  THE  GREATER  TESTAMENT 

Oct.  v.  —  V m  ill  at  reading,  i  e.,  prayers.  Some  texts  have 
lire,  others  dire,  but  the  two  expressions  are  practically  synonymous 
and  signify  the  act  of  supplication,  prayers  in  the  Middle  Ages 
being  always  read.  "/'would  be  but  such  as  Picards'  were;  i.e., 
none  at  all,  the  Picards  or  heretics  of  the  Walloon  country  being 
popularly  credited  with  dispensing  altogether  with  prayer,  probably 
from  the  fact  that  they  eschewed  prayers  for  the  dead. 

Oct.  vi.  11.  7  and  8. —  The  seventh  verse  .  .  .  Of  the  Psalm 
Dens  laudcm.  This  is  the  eighth  verse  of  Psalm  cix.  of  the 
Knglish  version  (  Hold  not  Thy  tongue,  0  God  of  my  praise  .')  and 
stands  thus,  Let  his  days  be  few  and  another  take  his  office. 
Villon's  intention  in  applying  it  to  the  Bishop  of  Orleans  is  still 
more  obvious  when  we  compare  the  Vulgate  version,  '  Fiant  dies 
ejus  pauci  et  episcopatum  ejus  accipiat  alter.' 

245 


NOTES 

Oct.  x.  1.  6. —  The  late  Lord  Dauphin,  i.  e.,  Louis  XI  himself. 
who  bore  the  title  of  Dauphin  of  Viennois  during  his  father's 
lifetime. 

Oct.  xii.  1.  8.  —  Averrlwes  his  Comment,  i.  e.,  upon  Aristotle. 

Oct.  xx.  11.  7-S.  —  Valerius  .  .  .  Of  Rome  styled  Greatest . 
Valerius  Maximus.  The  anecdote  of  Diomedes  and  Alexander 
appears  to  have  been  taken  not  from  Valerius,  as  stated  in  the  text, 
but  from  a  fragment  of  Cicero  de  Republicâ,  quoted  by  Nonius 
Marcellus,  in  which  the  corsair's  name  is  not  given. 

Oct.  xxx.  1.  7.  —  Shod,  breeched  like  oyster-fishers,  i.e.,  bare- 
legged and  footed  ? 

Oct.  xxxvi.  1.  5. — Jacques  Cœur.  The  great  French  merchant 
and  patriot,  whose  liberality  enabled  Charles  VII  to  accomplish 
the  reconquest  of  France  and  who  afterwards  fell  into  disgrace 
through  Court  intrigues. 

Oct.  xxxvii.  1.  2.  —  A  las,  no  longer  is  he  one  !  Alluding  of  course 
to  Jacques  Cœur,  who  died  at  Chio,  Nov.  25,  1456. 

Oct.  xxxix.  11.  5,  7.  — High-tired  or  hooded,  i.  e.,  ladies  of  quality 
or  women  of  the  middle  class. 

Ballad  of  Old-Time  Ladies,  ii.  5.  The  queen  who  willed,  etc. 
Marguerite  de  Bourgogne,  wife  of  Louis  le  Hutin,  King  of  France. 
Cf.  Dumas'  famous  drama,  La  Tour  de  Nesle. 

First  Ballad  of  Old-Time  Lords,  iii.  6.  Lancelot,  King  of 
Behai/ie.  This  appears,  at  first  sight,  to  refer  to  the  fabulous  hero 
of  La  Mort  d'Arthur,  Lancelot  du  Lac,  King  of  Bayonne  or 
Behaine  ;  but  the  commentators  are  probably  correct  in  supposing 
the  person  whom  the  poet  had  in  view  to  be  Wladislaw,  King  of 
Bohemia,  who  died  in  1457. 

The  Complaint  of  the  fair  Helm-maker.  La  Belle  Heairf- 
inière.  Opinions  differ  as  to  whether  this  personage  was  a  woman 
of  loose  life,  so  called  from  the  tall  cap,  helm  or  hennin,  said  to 
have  been  worn  by  her  class,  or  a  grisette  whose  occupation  was 
the  manufacture  orsale  of  such  articles  or  of  actual  helmets,  iv.l.  3. 
—  Even  had  he  made  me  faggots  bear.  Et  m'eust  il  fait  les  rains 
trayner.  A  possible  alternative  reading  is  "  Even  had  he  made 
me  drag  my  loins,"  i.  e.,  ground  me  to  the  earth  with  hard  work 
and  ill  usage. 

246 


NOTES 

Oct.  lvii.  1.  4. —  That  a  felt  hat  a  mortar  was.  The  mortier  "i- 
square  cap  worn  by  the  Judges  of  the  Parliament  is  probably  meant. 

Oct  lxiii.  11.  2  and  3.  —  Made  me  drink  of  zvater  cold  So  mini:. 
An  allusion  to  the  question  by  water,  which  Villon  appears  to  have 
more  than  once  undergone  during  his  confinement  in  Meunggaol. 

Oct.  lxiv.  1.  7. —  As  God  loves  Lombards,  etc.  It  may,  perhaps, 
be  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  Lombards,  as  the 
usurers  of  the  middle  ages  and  the  inventors  of  banking  and  pawn 
broking,  bore  much  the  same  evil  repute  as  the  Jews  of  our  own  day. 

Oct.  lxviii,  11.  7  and  8.  —  Nor  will  I  make  it  manifest  Except 
unto  the  realm  of  France.  It  appears  to  have  been  in  Villon's 
time  obligatory,  or  at  all  events  customary,  to  deposit  (  or  manifest  \ 
wills  with  an  ecclesiastical  official  during  the  lifetime  of  the 
testator.  Villon  afterwards  (  see  Oct.  clxxii.)  expresses  his  inten- 
tion of  cheating  the  Registrar  of  Wills  of  his  fees. 

Oct.  lxxviii.  1.2.  —  "  The  Devil's  Crake  "  Romaiint .  Le  Kommant 
du  Pet-au-Diable.  The  researches  of  M.  Marcel  Schwob  in  the 
Archives  Nationales  of  V ranee  have  brought  to  light  the  judicial 
record  of  the  protracted  litigation  between  the  University  and  the 
Provostry  of  Paris,  consequent  upon  the  measures  taken  by  the 
latter  for  the  putting  down  of  certain  riotous  proceedings  of 
the  undergraduates,  which  kept  the  city  in  an  uproar  for  the  greater 
part  of  three  years  (1451-3)  and  which  had  their  origin  in  the 
carrying  off  by  the  students  of  a  great  bor?ie,  (  a  curb-  or  mere-stone, 
intended,  in  the  absence  of  a  footpath,  to  protect  the  front  of  the 
house  before  which  it  was  planted  against  passing  vehicles,)  called 
"  Le  Pet-au-Diable  "  and  belonging  to  the  hotel  or  town  residence 
of  a  widow  lady  of  quality,  by  name  Catherine  de  Béthisy,  Damoi- 
selle  de  Bruyères.  Villon  doubtless  bore  his  full  share  in  this 
riotous  frolic  of  his  contemporaries  at  the  University  and  we  may 
reasonably  suppose  the  "  Romaunt  "  in  question  (  which  appears  to 
be  irretrievably  lost  )  to  have  been  a  burlesque  epic  (  probably  a 
parody  of  the  Chansons  de  Geste)  of  his  fashion,  celebrating  his 
own  and  his  fellow-students'  exploits  in  the  matter  of  the  famous 
borne.     Cf.  Oct.  exxxiv,  post. 

Ballad  that  Villon  made  at  the  request  of  his 
Mother,    etc.  —  Mary    of  Egypt.      V.    Jac.  de  Voragine,   Leg 

247 


NOTES 

Sanctorum  (  Leg.  Aurea ),  Vit.  Sanctae  Mariae  ^Egyptiacae.  And 
eke  Theophilus.  Theophilus,  Vicar-general  (vicedominus)  of  the 
diocese  of  Adana  in  Cilicia  in  the  sixth  century,  being  deposed  by 
his  bishop,  sold  himself  to  the  devil  to  have  his  office  again,  but, 
being  presently  seized  with  remorse,  besought  the  Virgin,  for  whom 
lie  had  always  (like  the  late  Cardinal  Newman)  professed  an 
especial  devotion,  with  such  instance  that  she,  remembering  her  of 
his  past  good  service,  intervened  on  his  behalf  and  compelled  the 
Evil  One  to  restore  the  contract.  This  legend  was  the  subject  of 
numerous  mediaeval  poems  and  mysteries,  of  which  the  most  cele- 
brated, Le  Miracle  de  Théophile,  was  the  composition  of  the 
thirteenth-century  trouvère  Rutubeuf,  who  also  left  a  poem  on 
"  La  Vie  de  Sainte  Marie  L'Egipcienne." 

Oct.  lxxxvii. —  The  White  Horse,  Mare,  Mule,  Brick-red  Ass. 
Tavern  signs. 

Oct.  lxxxviii.  1.  3  and  4.  —  Of  wine  of  Aulnis,  from  Turgis 
Taken  at  my  peril,  casks  fourteen .  Prins  h  mes  perils  may  also 
mean  "  taken  up  at  my  charges."  Robin  Turgis  was  the  host  of 
the  Pomme  du  Pin,  on  whom  Villon  is  reputed  to  have  played  the 
Baigneux  wine  trick  mentioned  in  the  Repues  Franches  ;  (  cf. 
Introduction,  p.  40). 

Oct.  lxxxix. —  Though  he's  a  chapman  by  estate.  Chapman 
(  marchand)  may  here  mean  "  thief."  See  my  previous  note  on 
this  word,  Lesser  Testament,  Oct.  xxiii.  My  sword  -without  the 
scabbard.  Branc,  the  word  here  used  for  sword,  probably 
because  of  its  similarity  in  sound  to  bran  or  bren,  merda.  The 
intention  is  obvious.  Levied  on  those  that  come  and  go  Within 
the  Temple  cloister-place .  A  good  instance  of  an  illusory  bequest. 
The  "  Cousture  du  Temple  "  being  private  property  and  enclosed, 
there  would  be  no  comers  and  goers  there  to  be  assessed. 

Oct.  xci.  1.  2. —  The  Muckle  Mug  in  Grève.  The  Grand  Godet 
de  Grève,  apparently  a  wine-shop  in  the  Place  de  Grève. 

Oct.  xcii.  1.  8.  —  Mother  Maschicoue .  A  well-known  rôtisseuse 
or  vendor  of  ready-roasted  poultry,  etc.,  whose  shop  was  in  La  Porte 
Paris  near  the  Grand  Châtelet. 

Oct.  xcix.  1.  6.  —  The  cooper's  mall.  —  Le  Hutinet.  This  word, 
in  another  sense,  is  the  diminutive  of  hut  in,  n.    and   a.,   brawling. 

248 


NOT?.  S 

quarrelsomeness,  contention,  also  quarrelsome,  contentious;  hence 
the  equivoque  of  the  following  lines. 

Oct.  c.  1.  3.  —  Good-cheap  man,  i.  e. ,  thief.     See  previous  notes. 

Oct.  ci.  1.2.  —  An  hundred  cloves.  Cent  clouz.  An  untranslat- 
able play  of  words  upon  the  word  clou,  in  its  double  meaning  of 
nail  and  clove. 

Oct.  cv.  1.  8.  —  The  Abbess  0/ Shaven-poll.  Huguette  du  Hamel, 
Abbess  of  Port  Royal  or  Pourras,  near  Paris,  a  dissolute  woman, 
whose  shameless  debaucheries  earned  her  the  popular  perversion 
of  her  title  to  Abbesse  de  h' oil- Ras  or  Shaven-poll,  the  cant  name 
for  a  prostitute  who  had  been  pilloried. 

Oct.  cvi.  1.  8.  —  Contemplation.  Contemplation.  .  .  .  the  equi- 
voque intended  in  the  use  of  the  French  word  is  sufficiently 
obvious. 

Oct.  cvii.  —  Nay,  'tis  not  1  that  give  them  this,  But  from  their 
loins  all  children  sprint,'.  Through  God.  Mais  de  touz  enffans 
sont  les  meres  En  Dieu.  This  is  a  hopelessly  obscure  passage  and 
one  can  only  guess  at  the  meaning.  'They  love  their  husbands  so. 
Hz  ayment  ainsi  leurs  maris,  i.  e.,  this  is  their  (  the  monks'  )  way  of 
showing  their  love  for  the  husbands.  M.  Longnon  makes  the 
unaccountable  remark  on  this  passage  that  ilz  is  here  used  for 
elles. 

Oct.  cviii.  I.5.  —  Meuug.  Jehan  de  Meung,  one  of  the  authors  of 
the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  Jehan  Toullieu.  Johannes  de  Poliaco,  a 
theologian  of  the  fourteenth  century,  who  wrote  against  the  Mendi- 
cant Friars  and  whose  writings  were  condemned  by  Pope  John 
XXII.  Matheolus.  A  Latin  poet  of  Boulogne-sur-Mer  in  the 
thirteenth  century. 

Ballad  and  Orison,  i.  6.  — Architricliwus.  Apx<-Tpiic2ivoç,  the 
Greek  designation  of  the  governor  of  the  feast  at  the  marriage  in 
Cana,  mistaken  by  Villon  for  a  proper  name. 

Oct.  cxviii.  1.  3.  —  Donatus.  The  Latin  grammar  of  the  day, 
./Elius  Donatus  de  octo partibus  orationis. 

Oct.  cxxiii.  1.  1.  —  The  Clerks  Eighteen.  Le  College  des  Dix- 
Huit  at  Paris  was  founded  in  the  time  of  St.  Louis  for  the  education 
of  poor  students, 


249 


NOTES 

Oct.  cxxvi.  —  The  Castle  of  Billy  was  doubtless  in  the  same 
ruinous  and  thief-liaunted  state  as  Nygeon  and  Ricétre.  Grigny 
seems  to  have  been  a  coiner. 

Oct.  cxxvii.  1.  3>  —  The  Canteen.  Le  Barillet.  probably  a  tavern 
sign. 

(  let.  exxviii.  1.  !S.  —  The  Lord  who  series  St.  Christopher.  The 
nobleman  here  alluded  to  is  Robert  d'Estouteville,  Provost  of 
Paris,  in  honour  of  whose  marriage  with  Ambroise  de  Lore  Villon 
composed  the  Ballad  which  follows,  presumably  in  his  student-days. 
The  Provost  appears  to  have  made  some  special  vow  of  service  to 
St.  Christopher  (  who  was  supposed  to  protect  his  devotees  against 
malemort,  i.  e.,  death  unshriven  ),  according  to  frequent  medieval 
custom. 

Oct.  exxix.  1.  6. —  that  tourney  King  Rene made.  A  celebrated 
tournament  or  /as  d'armes  held  by  René  of  Anjou  at  Saumur  in 
1446. 

BAI.  I.  AD  FOR  A  NEWI.Y  M  A  RRIED  GENTLEMAN,  11.  3  and  4. —  Clary 

....  S7t<eet  hay.     Olivier  franc Lorier  souef.     An  evident 

punning  allusion  to  the  name  of  the  bride,  which,  by  the  way,  is 
reproduced,  en  acrostiche,  in  the  initial  letters  of  the  first  fourteen 
lines  of  the  original  ballad.  Ambroise  is  the  old  F'rench  name  of 
the  clary  or  wild  sage  (O.  E.  Ambrose)  which  was  apparently  also 
known  as  Olivier  franc,  wild  olive.  Lore  is  an  old  form  of  laurier. 
laurel  or  sweet  bay. 

(  >ct.  exxx. — The  Perdryers  were  apparently  fellow -thieves  or 
comrades  of  Villon's,  who  had  betrayed  or  cheated  him  in  some 
unexplained  way  ;  perhaps  turned  King's  evidence  against  him  in 
respect  of  one  or  other  of  the  nefarious  transactions  in  which  they 
were  jointly  concerned.  The  latter  part  of  the  octave  seems  to 
point  to  an  information  laid  by  François  Perdryer  against  the  poet, 
in  consequence  of  which  the  latter  was  punished  for  some  one  of 
his  numerous  escapades  by  the  Parliament  of  Bourges. 

Oct.  exxxi.  1.  1. —  Tai/levent.  Le  Viandier  de  Maître  Taille- 
vent,  cook  to  Charles  VII,  was  the  popular  cookery-book  of  the 
time. 

Ballad  Entitled  the  Counterblast  to  Franc-Gontier.  — 
Les  Diets  de   Franc-Gontier,    by    Philippe   de   Vitré,    Bishop    of 

250 


NOTES 

Meaux,  was  a  popular  pastoral  romance  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
celebrating  the  delights  of  a  country  life  :  it  was  imitated  in  another 
book,  entitled  Les  Contredictz  de  Fram  -Gontier,  in  which  are  set 
forth  the  discomforts  of  a  pastoral  life  and  the  hardships  that  arose 
from  the  oppression  of  the  squires  and  seigneurs  of  the  time,  per- 
sonified in  a  character  called  le  Tyran  and  modelled  upon  some 
great  nobleman  of  the  day. 

Oct.  cxxxiv. —  Madame  de  Bruyères.  Catherine  de  Béthisy, 
Damoiselle  de  Bruyères.     See  ante,  note  to  Oct.  lxxviii. 

Oct.  cxxxv.  1.  6.  —  Macrobius.  The  Latin  rhetorician  and  gram- 
marian, author  of  the  well-known  Commentary  upon  the  S  omnium 
Scipionis  of  Cicero  and  of  other  books  in  great  repute  during  the 
Middle  Ages. 

Oct.  cxxxviii.  11.  i  and  2.  —  Wenches  who  Have  fathers,  mothers, 
aunts  .  .  .  i.  e. ,  prostitutes.  Brothel-keepers  and  procuresses 
have  always  borne  some  such  name  as  tante,  expressing  their 
relation  to  the  unfortunates  under  their  control. 

Oct.  cxxxix.  1.  8.  —  Methinks,  one  scarce  were  damned  for  it  ; 
i.  e.,  for  diverting  a  part  of  the  superfluity  of  the  monks  and  nuns 
to  the  benefit  of  the  needy  fît/es  de  joie. 

[Ballad  ok  Villon  and  Muckle  Meg. —  "The  spirit  of 
Villon  is  still  living  in  the  literature  of  France.  Fat  Peg  is  oddly 
of  a  piece  with  the  work  of  Zola,  the  Goncourts,  and  the  infinitely 
greater  Flaubert  ;  and,  while  similar  in  ugliness,  still  surpasses 
them  in  native  power.  The  old  author,  breaking  with  an  éclat 
de  voi.v,  out  of  his  tongue-tied  century,  has  not  yet  been  touched 
on  his  own  ground,  and  still  gives  us  the  most  vivid  and  shocking 
impression  of  reality.  Even  if  that  were  not  worth  doing  at  all,  it 
would  be  worth  doing  as  well  as  he  has  done  it  ;  for  the  pleasure 
we  take  in  the  author's  skill  repays  us,  or  at  least  reconciles  us  to 
the  baseness  of  his  attitude.  Fat  Beg  (  I. a  (Grosse  Margot)  is 
typical  of  much  ;  it  is  a  piece  of  experience  that  has  nowhere  else 
been  rendered  into  literature;  and  a  kind  of  gratitude  tor  the 
author's  plainness  mingles,  as  we  read,  with  the  nausea  proper  to 
the  business,  i  shall  quote  here  a  verse  of  an  old  students'  song, 
worth  laying  side  by  side  with  Villon's  startling  ballade.  This 
singer,  also,  had  an  unworthy  mistress,  but  he  did  not  choose  to 


25I 


NOTES 

share  the  wages  of  dishonour  ;  and  it  is  thus,  with  both  wit  and 
pathos,  that  he  laments  her  fall  :  — 

'  Nunc  plango  florem 

^Etatis  tenera? 
Nitidiorem 

Veneris  sidere  : 
Tunc  columbinam 

Mentis  dulcedinem, 
Nunc  serpentinam 

Amaritudinem. 
Verbo  rogantes 

Removes  ostio, 
Munera  dantes 
Foves  cubiculo, 
Illos  abire  pnecipis 
A  quibus  nihil  accipis, 
Cascos  claudosque  recipis, 
Viros  illustres  decipis 

Cum  melle  venenosa.  '  "* 

—  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  (  Pre/ace  to  Familiar  Studies  of 
Men  and  Books).  ] 

Oct.  cxlii. — Master  Hal.  Maître  Henriot,  the  executioner  of 
Paris.  Noel  IVellbeseen,  Noel  Joliz,  the  object  of  the  unpleasant 
bequest  made  by  this  octave,  is  conjectured  by  some  commentators 
to  have  been  the  poet's  favoured  rival  with  Catherine  de  Vaucelles 
and  the  person  to  whom  he  owed  the  beating  mentioned  in  Stanza 
v  of  the  Double  Ballad  of  Light  Loves,  (q.  v.). 

Oct.  cxlvii.  1.  I. —  The  Fifteen-Score.  The  name  (  Ouinze- 
Vingts  )  of  a  hospital  at  Paris  founded  by  St.  Louis  for  the  reception 
of  three  hundred  poor  blind  men,  who  were  bound  by  the  terms  of 
their  foundation  to  furnish  mourners  for  all  funerals  taking  place 
in  the  adjoining  Cemetery  of  the  Innocents. 

Oct.  cliii.  —  The  transposition  (  now  first  made  by  M.  Longnon 
from  the  MSS.)  of  this  octave,  which  stands  in  all  previous  editions 

*  Gaudeamus  :  Carmina  vagorum  selecta.  Leipsic.  Triibner. 
1879. 

252 


NOTES 

as  Oct.  cliv.,  from  after  to  before  the  Roundel,  "  On  my  release," 
restores  a  very  corrupt  passage  to  its  original  sense,  making  it 
evident  that  the  lais  or  ditty  dedicated  to  the  dead  is,  not  (as 
seemed  to  be  the  case  under  the  former  arrangement  )  the  Roundel 
aforesaid  (which  now  appears  in  its  true  character,  as  the  lais, 
mod.  legs,  given  to  Jacques  Cardon  )  but  the  three  elegiac  octaves 
cxlix-cli.  This  restoration  shows  us  how  the  old  editors  blundered 
into  entitling  the  Roundel  "Lais  ou  plutôt  Rondeau"  (two  very 
different  things  ),  being  misled  by  the  introversion  into  mistaking 
lais,  lay,  for  lais,  legacy,  the  word  having  both  meanings  in  old 
French. 

Oct.  civ.  1.  2.  — Alain  Chartier's  Lay.     L'Hôpital  d"Amour. 

Oct.  clvi.  11.  7  and  8.  —  There  appears  to  be  some  equivoque 
intended  here  upon  the  popular  meaning  of  the  word  truie,  i.  e., 
prostitute. 

Oct.  clvii.  —  The  Seneschal  here  mentioned  appears  to  have  been 
Louis  de  Bourbon,  Seneschal  et  Mareschal  du  Bourbonnais,  who  is 
thought  to  have  sheltered  Villon,  during  his  second  exile,  at  his 
town  of  Roussillon  in  Dauphiné.  The  third  line  contains  a  play  of 
words  upon  his  title  of  Mareschal  (  technicè,  blacksmith  ),  and  the 
fourth  a  possible  allusion  to  the  Prince's  amorous  disposition,  oies 
et  canettes  being  (  as  before  mentioned  )  cant  terms  for  women  of 
loose  life. 

Oct.  clviii.  1.  6.  —  The  Blacksmiths'  Provost.    Tristan  l'Hermite. 

Oct.  clix.  1.  i.  —  Cha/>/>etain.  Probably  a  member  of  Villon's 
gang,  upon  whose  name  or  nickname  he  plays. 

Oct.  clxiii.  1.  2.  —  According  to  M.  Lacroix,  the  Convent  of  St. 
Avoye  was  the  only  one  at  Paris  which  was  situate  on  the  second 
floor  and  consequently  contained  no  burial-place. 

Oct.  clxvi.  1.  2. —  The  '  Belfry'  Bell.  The  largest  of  the  bells 
of  Notre  Dame,  called  Le  Beffroi  and  rung  only  on  great  occasions. 

Oct.  clxvii.  1.  4.  —  St.  Stephen's  loaves,  i.  e.,  stones. 

Oct.  clxx.  1.  6. — Philip  Brunei.  Supposed  to  have  been  the 
Seigneur  de  Grigny  twice  previously  named  by  Villon,  i.  e.,  L.  T., 
Oct.  xviii.  and  G.  T.  Oct.  cxxvi. 

Oct.  clxxii.  1.  8.  —  Perrette's  Den.  Le  Trou  Perrette,  a  low 
cabaret  and  gambling-hell  at  Paris. 

253 


NOTES 


NOTES  TO    DIVERS    AND    SUNDRY    POEMS 

Bai. i. ad  of  Villon  in  Prison.  —  Apparently  written  in  Meung 
gaol. 

Variant,  &c.  —  This  is  undoubtedly  a  spurious  amplification  of 
the  following  Quatrain,  but  it  is  so  well  known  that  1  have  thought 
it  well  to  leave  it  in  its  usual  place  among  the  occasional  poems. 

Epitaph  in  Ballad  Form. —  Apparently  written  whilst  awaiting 
execution  for  the  burglary  committed  at  the  College  de  Navarre  in 
1456.  (The  two  following  Ballads  appear  to  have  been  composed 
on  the  same  occasion.  The  actual  appeal  to  the  Parliament  against 
the  sentence  of  death  has  not  been  handed  down  to  us.) 

Ballad  of  Villon's  Appeal,  i.  i.- — Gantier.  Etienne 
Gamier,  not  (  as  hitherto  supposed)  the  procureur  or  proctor  who 
defended  Villon  on  this  occasion  but  (  according  to  a  note  in  the 
Stockholm  M.S.)  the  clerc  du  guichet  or  head  gaoler  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie Prison. 

Do.,  ii.  1  and  2.  —  The  Chanson  de  Geste  of  Hugues  Capet,  the 
founder  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty,  represents  him  as  the  son  of 
Richer,  Sire  de  Beaugency,  and  of  Beatrix,  the  daughter  of  a 
butcher  of  Montmartre.  Dante  also  adopts  the  popular  tradition 
to  the  same  effect,  putting  into  the  mouth  of  the  shade  of  the  hero 
the  words,  Figlinol  fui  d'un  beccaio  di  J'arigi.  (  Purg.  XX.  52). 
Figliuol  may  be  read  in  its  wider  sense  of  "  lineal  descendant,"  but 
another  version  of  the  legend  represents  Capet's  father  himself  as  a 
butcher  of  great  wealth,  who  married  the  widowed  Duchess  of 
Orleans.  The  whole  story,  however,  appears  to  have  had  no 
foundation  in  fact. 

Ballad  of  Proverbs. —  ft  is  hardly  necessary  to  note  that  the 
point  of  the  refrain  lies  in  the  contemporary  use  of  the  word  Noel 
(  Christmas  )  as  an  exclamation  in  the  sense  of  Hurrah  !  or  /  ivat  ! 
etc.  ii.  1.  5. — Some  love  God  till  front  church  they  trend.  On 
reconsideration,  I  am  convinced  that  this  line  should  read  fuyt  (  not 
suyt)  l'Eglise.  The  substitution  of  the  long  s  for  the  f  is  the 
commonest  of  copyists'  blunders  and  the  rectification  is  indicated 
by  the  intention  of  the  line,  which  is  manifestly  antithetical. 


254 


NOTES 

Ballad  of  Things  known  and  unknown,  iii.  7.  — Hov 
misled  Bohemians  were.  The  allusion  here  is  supposed  to  be  to 
the  Hussite  movement. 

Ballad  against  those  who  Missav  op  France,  iii.  1.  r. — 
The  "  Octovien  "  named  in  this  line  is  not,  as  supposed  by  M 
Longnon,  the  Roman  Emperor  Augustus,  whose  adoptive  name 
was  Octavianus  and  who  was  a  comparatively  mild  and  beneficent 
ruler,  but  the  imaginary  tyrant  of  mediaeval  romance,  the  Kaiser 
Octavianus   of  Tieck  and  the  old  legends. 

The  Debate  of  Villon's  Body  and  Soul.  —  Probably  written 
in  Meting  gaol. 

Bai  lad  of  Villon's  Request,  ii.  7. —  According  to  M.  Promp- 
sault,  there  never  was  a  wood  at  or  near  Patay.  iii.  7,  8,  g.  —  An 
audacious  play  of  words,  founded  upon  the  double  meaning  of  the 
word  croix,  i.  e.,  cross  and  money,  e.  g.,  the  well-known  phrase, 
Il  n'a  ni  croix  ni  pile  —  '  He  has  not  a  rap.'  The  obverse  of  the 
coin  of  the  time,  now  distinguished  by  the  portrait  of  the  prince 
issuing  it,  was  then  generally  stamped  with  a  cross,  the  reverse 
being  called  pile,  a  name  which  still  survives.  An  apt  instance  of 
the  old  Knglish  use  of  the  word  '  cross  '  in  the  sense  of  the  more 
modern  '  rap  '  occurs  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  The  Faithful 
Friends,  act  i.  sc.  2  ; 

(  011s/.     Pray,  gentlemen,  will  you  pay  your  reckoning  there? 
Snip.     Not  a  cross,  by  this  hand  ! 

The  mention  of  the  true  cross  in  the  ninth  line  is  a  daring  allusion 
to  the  famous  l 'raie  croix-  i/c  St.  I.ô  to  which  Louis  XI  professed  a 
special  devotion. 

Sundry  Poems  attributed  to  Villon. — These  (with  the 
possible  exception  of  the  Ballad  of  Vintners)  are  certainly  tint  by 
Villon  ;  but  as  they  have  considerable  merit  of  their  own  and  are 
generally  included  in  his  works,  F  have  thought  it  well  to  let  them 
stand.  The  Ballad  of  the  Tree  of  Love  has  recently  been  identified 
as  the  composition  of  Alain  Chartier,  whilst  the  two  Ballads  of 
Ladies'  Love  are  probably  of  considerably  later  date,  possibly 
altogether  comparatively  modern  imitations  of  the  ancient  style 
The  Merry  Ballad  of  Vintners  is  the  only  one  that  bears  any  trace 


255 


NOTES 

of  Villon's  hand  and  may  possibly  be  an  early  or  inferior  specimen 
of  his  work.  As  for  the  Roundel,  the  authorship  of  this  tender 
little  piece  may  perhaps  be  assigned  to  Eustache  Deschamps,  whose 
style  it  much  resembles  ;  cf.  the  Champenois  poet's  very  similar 
Rondeau  des  adieux  a  sa  dame,  "Adieu,  mon  cuer  ;  adieu,  ma 
joye,"  etc. 


256 


FACSIMILES 


FROM    A    MANUSCRIPT    OF    THE    1 5TH    CENTURY 

[I 

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JÇjHD  pj>*te  $&****  pOM¥#Ù&  <Uaa  I 


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258 


^59 


FROM    AN    EDITION    OF   THF,    1 5TH    CENTURY 

jf  tetee  Ç  n  mamo  q  ap;eo  Hoiretwiee 
Jîapej  fee  meute  cotre  ncPettSmd* 
jCar  fe  p  trie  8e  noue  poutf  te?  aue^ 
SDieti  eij  aura  pfofioji  8e8o9  mercte 
SD006  ho9  flotee  cj>  ctfacÇee  anq  fï^ 
&tt#t  8e  (a  cflar  <j  hop  cute  nouvtie 
&We{lpiecaSeaontec(i  pouttic 
etnov  fee  oeSeneno6  c^ee^ponft 
5De «re  maf  pfornietie  fen tie  (fee 
Opaiepee  &ea  4fo9fio9$weiffe  o6^ 

fon8ic* 
Jiee  frejee$o9cfam3e:pa6  ne  5eoej 
2moir8c(Sam<jqttop  c]  fumee  occfe 
par  m  (free  tonfeffote  $one  fcanee 
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jQone  (omee  moie  orne  ne  no9  Jane 
«Çaiepee  $teu^  fo9  Ho9Sweiffea6/ 

(foatfre 


260 


ftptope  nouea  Bucket  fauee 

pie*  coiôe aaç  no*  ont  fee penfç  can 
et  auacQet  Ça  BatScptee  foorciK  a«? 
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gardée  qvèf et  n<rif  Se  no9  ta  mmfîrà 
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JJJe  force  fou c  6e  nofîte  c otxfxo me 
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fcaefonfc* 


261 


HERE      ENDS     THE     POEMS     OF      MASTER 
FRANÇOIS  VILLON  OF  PARIS  NOW  FIRST 
DONE   INTO   ENGLISH   VERSE  IN  THE 
ORIGINAL     FORMS     WITH     A     BIO- 
GRAPHICAL  AND   CRITICAL    IN- 
TRODUCTION BY  JOHN  PAYNE 
DONE    INTO    TYPE    FOR 
THOMAS   B   MOSHER    AND 
PUBLISHED  BY  HIM  AT 
PORTLAND         MAINE 
IN      THE      MONTH 
OF     OCTOBER 
ANNO  DOMINI 
M  DC  CC  C 


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